by Astrid Amara
“That can be done later. You are my guest today. I insist.”
The courthouse was across the river from the palace, between the holy temple district and the public market. A white limestone courtyard dominated the entrance and was the location of all the executions in the capital. The original building burned a hundred years ago, and so the current structure was heavily influenced by the rich architectural designs of the eastern states. Engravings of the prophets glared down from dozens of stone alcoves, and detailed paintings of the laws adorned the plaster walls. Inside, the floor was bare marble, but the few spaces on the walls where the Book of Taivo was not written were covered in colorful tapestries depicting the great battles of the kings from a century prior.
Even at this early hour, a long line of plaintiffs and defendants snaked around the courthouse. One of Yudar’s ministers sat at a table near the entrance, recording the names of those requesting mediation and the charges brought forth. Soldiers flanked the entrance, ensuring orderly conduct and to escort any convicted criminals to the bailiffs for transport to the jailhouse on the outskirts of Prasta.
Inside, citizens and ministers filled the available seats and lined the walls. Everyone stood and bowed respectfully as Jandu and his brother made their way to the front of the room. Jandu had originally hoped he could watch from the sidelines, but Yudar made it clear he wanted Jandu with him at the front of the room.
Jandu refused one of the three intimidating large velvet chairs, choosing as always to lean against the wall behind his brother. As soon as Yudar took his seat, the court session began. The first case was a man accusing his wife of adultery, but after the man failed to produce any evidence to support his claim, Yudar dismissed the case. At the second hearing, some Prastan merchants brought forward a thief caught stealing their goods. After them, Yudar was asked to determine compensation on the loss of a cow, accidentally poisoned when one farmer dumped refuse into another farmer’s well.
Jandu’s fingers tapped out a rhythm on his thigh in the hopes it would keep him awake. He couldn’t remember ever being this bored before. He scanned the crowd for attractive men, and wondered which ones Keshan would find the most pleasing. He counted how many men in the crowd were balding. Then he counted how many sported facial hair. Then he guessed how many women dyed their hair with henna. And, eventually, he even began listening to the trials.
Yudar exhibited endless patience, his face sympathetically torn with grief at tales of loss, appropriately outraged at injustices, perfectly cold and determined when dictating punishment.
Yudar thrived here. He knew the laws and recited dozens of prior cases for any situation. If a man’s chicken had been killed by another man’s dog, Yudar quoted the exact paragraph in the Book of Taivo that applied, recited four examples of similar judgments made by the prophets, and then stated his decision. Yudar looked magnificent in the large chair, head held high, eyes blazing, hands pressed together as he concentrated.
Before the court now were two men, chained to guards with their heads bowed shamefully. They wore the dress of the Chaya caste, farmers who looked to have come from the west of Marhavad.
Another man, a horse trader, explained their crime to Yudar. Jandu wasn’t really paying attention, busy as he was figuring out why his hair was so wild and unruly this morning and fiddling with his clothes, until he heard a word that drew his attention.
“….homosexual activity the likes of which I am morally opposed to describing,” the trader said, sneering at the two men. “In the middle of the rice field! Where my children could have seen their depravity!”
Jandu’s eyes widened. The horse trader brought out another witness, who confirmed that the two men had been copulating in a rice field at dusk.
Yudar looked appalled. He curled his lip in disgust as they told their story.
“Is this true?” Yudar asked the accused men. “Are you guilty?”
The two men looked at each other. One of them cried, his hands folded in supplication, but the other looked straight at Yudar with a stony expression.
“Yes,” he said.
His companion hung his head and sobbed.
Jandu watched his brother’s face. Yudar looked like he had been poisoned. He recoiled from the men as if he were somehow personally infected by their mere presence.
“Then by the laws of Marhavad, I hold you accountable for the unholy foulness you have engaged in,” Yudar said to them. His lips set grimly. “I sentence you both to execution, and I hope you come to terms with God for the abominable crime you have committed.”
Jandu stood against the wall until the criminals were led away. Yudar announced he would cease hearings to attend the immediate execution, as was his custom. Yudar believed in swift justice, and beckoned Jandu to join him.
Outside, Jandu asked Yudar to excuse him for a moment. He then politely bowed to the courtiers, left the courtyard, and ran around the corner where he vomited in the bushes. Memories of entering Keshan swarmed through his brain like a madness, making him shiver in horror at his own longings.
By the time Jandu rejoined Yudar in the courtyard, his hands had almost stopped shaking. Jandu folded his arms, hoping that Yudar would not notice his paleness.
Yudar’s expression was grim. “I’m sorry you have to see an execution on your first day at court,” he told Jandu. “But we must show the people that we fulfill sentences swiftly and efficiently.”
There was no delay in carrying out Yudar’s sentence. Citizens awaiting trial gathered around a large wooden platform to watch the execution. Most seemed eager for the diversion. Several women standing nearby already wept. Jandu guessed they were relatives of the condemned. One of the condemned men tried to wave to an older man who looked to be his father. A guard jerked the man’s hand down and led him onto the platform.
Bailiffs brought Yudar and Jandu ornate chairs to sit on. This time, Jandu took up the offer, unsure if his legs would hold him up. Soldiers surrounded them, keeping the growing crowd at bay.
A bailiff blindfolded the men and then led to the platform where they were forced to kneel before the chopping block. In Yudar’s Prasta, there was no grace period. The convicts had no chance to look at each other or say good-bye to their families. Such rights were revoked.
Jandu said nothing to his brother. He sat, still as stone, and stared at the two men, concentrating on not throwing up again. He said nothing as the crime of sodomy was publicly announced, along with their family names in order to disgrace their families throughout the kingdom.
His brother grimaced at the men and called them a “moral sickness.”
The executioner swung back his large blade and lopped off the head of one man, followed by the other. The second required two strokes.
Jandu walked stiffly towards their chariot. Yudar followed, concern plain upon his face.
“Jandu, do you feel all right? You’re completely pale.” Yudar put his hand against Jandu’s forehead, feeling for a temperature.
Jandu jerked his head away.
Jandu felt panic rise through his body like a fever, from his legs through to the tips of his fingers. He and Keshan could be executed like that, that quickly. Those men had families, loved ones who would never live long enough to escape the shame that the crime had brought upon them. That was him. Him and Keshan.
Jandu forced himself to speak. “I’m just sick, that’s all.”
“God, why didn’t you tell me this morning?”
“I thought I’d be fine.”
“I should never have taken you to the execution,” Yudar said, shaking his head. “It always turns my stomach, even now.”
“I’ll be fine,” Jandu said through gritted teeth. Though he knew that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t be. The call of sodomy above the crowd echoed in his ears. That was him. His brother would kill him, that easily. The circle of soldiers around him seemed sinister. The sound of the crowd cheering as the executioner held the two heads aloft, the screams of the old woman whose son l
ay dead, the impressions closed in around Jandu in a jumble of sick guilt.
“I’ve forgotten how shocking the executions are, especially when unprepared for one. I’ll call you a doctor,” Yudar said.
Jandu shook his head. “I just need to get out of this crowd, that’s all. I’ll return to the palace now, if it is all right with you.”
“Of course.” Yudar frowned. “I have to stay for the rest of the hearings, but I’ll see you at dinner this evening.” He watched Jandu with a look of pity.
Jandu numbly climbed into his chariot and told the charioteer to take him home. Prasta’s wide royal avenue lay before him, but Jandu could barely focus on anything.
I have to calm down. Jandu tried to focus on what he wanted, what would make him feel better. Keshan came to his mind like a symbol of salvation.
I need him. Jandu closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. How could he now, minutes after seeing two men die for their love, be thinking of Keshan?
But there was a bitter truth, Jandu realized. Like it or not, Jandu needed Keshan. There was no longer any question who he was. At least that had been determined the night Keshan left the palace. And part of being Jandu meant being in love with a man rather than a woman.
The image of the executioner’s axe falling came again to his mind. Why had he just sat there and watched? Couldn’t he have said something to Yudar, asked for leniency for them? Was he that much of a coward?
The second Jandu thought he had his emotions under control, the reality of who he was would smack him in the face again, and panic would rise through his body, making it difficult to breathe. He was suffocating on his own self-realization. Once home, he ordered the servants out of his rooms, and locked the door to his bedroom. He sat on his bed until his shaking subsided, and then he took some deep breaths.
“I have to see him,” Jandu said aloud. He called one of his servants to ready a horse and bring a saddlebag.
Jandu changed into clothes better suited for riding. He put on a dark cotton dejaru and a blue embroidered sash. He combed his hair down and pushed aside his bangs, which were long enough now to fall into his eyes. He removed his silver diadem and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a terrified version of himself. Where was Jandu the brave archer now?
“Jandu fucks men,” Jandu whispered to his reflection. He closed his eyes and fought back tears. He had to find Keshan. Keshan was the only one who could help him.
He slung Zandi and his quiver across his shoulders and packed clothing and gold coins into the saddlebag. Anxiety propelled him forward. He opened his door to leave and found Suraya standing there, hand raised as if to knock.
“The servants say you are ill.” Suraya looked at the bow and saddlebag. She raised an eyebrow. ”Is everything all right?”
“I have to get out of the city.” Jandu shouldered his way past her and started down the hall.
“Where are you going?” Suraya chased after him, her sandals clacking on the marble floor. “Jandu—wait!”
“I will be back in time to hear Mazar’s decision,” Jandu said.
“Tell me where you are going!” Suraya demanded, her voice rising in anger that Jandu had never heard her express before. She darted in front of him, arms out to block his way. The silver threads in her zahari flashed in the mid-morning light.
Jandu’s hold on his emotions was too tenuous to stay and chat. He tried to move past her but Suraya did not budge.
“Suraya, please.” He teetered between anger and tears. “You can’t help me.”
Suraya’s arms lowered. She searched his face, seeming to read for the first time his true emotion. “You’re going to Tiwari, aren’t you? To see Keshan.”
To Jandu’s horror, he felt his lip trembling. He didn’t trust himself to speak so he nodded.
“And you’ll be back before Mazar’s announcement?” she asked.
Jandu nodded again.
“All right.” Suraya sighed. “But if you aren’t back in one week I’ll personally drag you back to the palace myself. I am your wife, remember.”
The idea of skinny-armed Suraya overpowering him was so absurd that Jandu broke into a laugh. Suraya smiled back at him. He knelt down to touch her feet and she told him to stop being so stupid, embraced him and let him go.
Jandu mounted Shedav and rode though the city. Life burgeoned around him, thriving and noisy, the air thick with the smells of the market, the fragrance of late summer jasmine, the stench of the sewers and burning milk, but none of it touched him. He would not rest until he saw Keshan.
Once through the white sentinel walls of the city, and surrounded by recently harvested fields, Jandu finally calmed. He continued along the main road leading out of the city until he reached the crossroads. To the north, the road followed the Yaru River to Karuna. To the east, it rolled through endless wheat and corn fields to Jagu Mali. Jandu took neither of these. He urged his horse toward the road leading south, through the forests and into Tiwari.
Chapter 16
Tiwari was a day’s journey from Prasta, and so leaving as late as he had, Jandu had to pitch a tent halfway and wait until dawn to continue. After hours of nothing but dark, looming forestry, the main road hit the coastline and the world around Jandu exploded into lushness. The spiked yellow and scarlet clusters of sorrowless tree blooms blew across the roadway, mingling with purple silk blossoms and violet plums to turn the road into a spectacle of color, reds and whites and yellows, with the irresistible scent of roses mixing with the white stars of jasmine and wild vanilla.
The city of Tiwari was built high up on a bluff, whose jagged cliff edge dropped to a dangerous precipice and an even more dangerous shoreline, rugged with sharp rocks. At the entrance to the city, the sound of the crashing surf drowned out all other noises.
But a quieter sandy beach stretched to the south of the city, and beside it the city’s main market and most of its population lived. Jandu jumped from his horse and cupped his hand to scoop up star-shaped petals and the fading pink blossoms of a nearby clematis.
Along the street, a sturdy row of white-barked trees spun their whorled leaves like tops in the ocean breeze, their slender tips striking each other to mimic the sound of rainfall. It was as if Jandu had entered a botanical paradise. The salt in the air mingled with the scent of dozens of fragrant bushes in the private gardens, the scent of someone baking fish in a clay oven, and a street vendor frying bananas. Beautiful, painted cows wandered the streets brazenly, their udders round and low.
Jandu led his horse down the street in a daze. The sun beat down on his spiky black hair, and bronzed his skin. It was early morning and people had just begun to venture out into the streets. The Tiwari people shared Keshan’s light olive-colored skin, his slightly slanting eyes. There was a fierceness to their countenance that Jandu didn’t recognize in his own royal blood. Something about the Tiwaris seemed almost combustible. And yet they were the nicest, most welcoming strangers he had ever met. As he made his way up the main boulevard, individuals ran out to offer him a cool glass of water or to bring grain for his horse. Jandu didn’t know if it was just him, emanating a princely Triya demeanor with his fine horse and saddle, or if it was just the Tiwari way, but whatever it was, it made Keshan’s capital a welcoming city.
As Jandu approached the Adaru palace, he started to worry about surprising Keshan.
What if he found Keshan with another lover? Keshan did, after all, have a reputation. Was Jandu really to believe that Keshan loved him and him alone? As Jandu made his way along the wide main boulevard, he saw more proof of how ridiculous such an idea was. This was an entire city built on the love of Keshan. These people had moved across their state to build their homes against this ragged cliff as a testament to that love. Keshan had to be shared with everyone.
And their time in Prasta—it had been a month ago. Forever in the highly malleable state of romance, Keshan could have moved on. Maybe Jandu’s feelings were no longer reciprocated.
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sp; His stomach was in knots by the time he reached the palace entrance. Tiwari’s seat of power was carved directly into the cliff’s edge, with a long stone garden that doubled as a wall, stretching along the coast towards the center of the city. The palace jutted from the bluff like a challenge to the sea. Magnificent, lush flowers bloomed around the building softening its harsh red rocky face. Ivies intertwined across the vertical surface, covering every brick under a curtain of organic life. Giant palms shaded Jandu from the sun’s increasing heat, and coconut trees thick with fruit clustered at the main gate.
A soldier stopped him at the entrance, eyeing Zandi warily. “State your name and business.”
Jandu hadn’t bothered to wear his diadem. His head was sweaty and the cool salty breezes coming off the coast felt marvelous.
“I’m here to see Keshan Adaru. I’m his cousin,” he said.
Apparently, that answer was not good enough, for the soldier signaled behind him and several other soldiers emerged from a guardhouse.
“What is your name?” the soldier asked.
“Jandu Paran, Prince of Marhavad.”
The soldier frowned at Jandu’s dirty sandals and his sun-tanned face.
“Lord Keshan is in the reception hall with Lord Iyestar, Prince,” he said warily. “Follow me.” The man nodded to another guard, who took the reins of Jandu’s horse. After removing his saddlebag and throwing it over his shoulder, Jandu followed the soldier into the main house and down a long wooden hall lined with colorful portraits of animals.
Tiwari’s main reception hall was a lot smaller than those in the Prasta palace, but it was opulent, with a gilded ceiling and glittering crystal along the sides, detailed murals painted on each wall, and a dramatic curving balcony that jutted from the side of the cliff and overlooked the frothing ocean below. Thick, overlapping carpets padded the floor. The room had two long rows of seats for visitors, leading up to the dais where Iyestar and his ministers sat. There were two petitioners in the room, talking quietly with a clerk in the corner.