Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

From the periphery of the great circular hall, acolyte priests observed and recorded every detail, passing along a running commentary that was then repeated by royal criers to the perspiring people outside.

  The ritual formalities ended, Dowager Empress Jilana came to the crux of the matter. Not one to waste breath, knowing she already had a captive audience eager to receive her words, she voiced the name of Prince Regent Vrath.

  The man in question stood in full court armor, gleaming and resplendent, the most magnificent specimen of manhood in the entire assemblage, the symbol of power of the entire Burnt Empire and pillar of the dynasty.

  Vrath approached Jilana with a bow and a kneel that displayed a son’s respect, though, as a demigod, he was far more powerful than she. Yet that show of humility was significant, intended as a message to all who observed them both, this unlikely duo of stepmother and stepson. For it was by Vrath’s leave that she ruled Hastinaga and through Vrath’s power and influence and reach that she maintained that post. This kneeling and show of respect was to convey to the world at large that all was well between the dowager empress and her stepson, the steward and regent of the Burnt Empire. All was well and as it had been since the demise of her husband, the late emperor Sha’ant.

  A thousand wagers collapsed on that look alone.

  A thousand fortunes were won and lost because of that kneeling and the angle of Vrath’s bowed head.

  The Krushan Empire, better known as the Burnt Empire, was, as it had been, ruled by the late Sha’ant’s widow, Jilana, and protected by his son Vrath. Let no one doubt or question that status quo, on pain of death.

  This message conveyed, Vrath took his place beside his stepmother on the dais. After a few gruff formal words—the prince regent was not fond of public speaking—he bowed again to Jilana, leaving it to her to make the proclamation that all were waiting to receive.

  “It is a great day for the Krushan dynasty, a great day for Hastinaga and the dawn of a new epoch,” she said with a regal tone and manner that belied her origins as a fisherman’s daughter who had spent her youth ferrying pilgrims across the sacred Jeel River all day long, clad in scanty garb and stinking of fish. Now, as she stood before the diamond-bright eyes of the world’s most powerful and wealthiest monarchs, she was the very image of what a widowed queen should be, proud and dignified, the gold tiara on her head and gold scepter in her hand leaving no doubt of her authority.

  “The Krushan dynasty has two male heirs,” she said. “The princesses Ember and Umber have each given birth to a son. Both boys are healthy and well.”

  The cheer that exploded from two million throats buffeted the humid air and filled the metropolis. In the great hall, the thousand and eight were equally vocal in their exuberance, each vying to outdo the others in expressing their joy—and, more importantly, to be seen and heard expressing that joy.

  After the deafening uproar finally died down, Prince Regent Vrath took over again, announcing in his military commander’s bullfrog voice, “In the name of my father, Emperor Sha’ant, and all the ancestors back to Almighty Kr’ush himself, I call upon the new heirs to undergo the Test of Fire.”

  4

  A double row of Krushan fire maidens had entered the great hall during Jilana’s speech, forming a long path from an inner palace doorway to the foot of the dais. Every last one was armed and held her weapon at the ready. The fire maidens favored the bladed weapon called a Flame, held by a fist-shaped grip from which protruded four inches of layered razor-sharp steel that curved in a semicircle with a flame-shaped tip at the top. They each held two Flames in the resting position, the flat of the blades overlapping to form a shield against their navels, and stood facing the dais.

  As the princesses Ember and Umber emerged from the inner palace, the fire maidens let their mistresses walk past, then turned smartly to face outward, forming a wall of blades that only one intent on suicide would dare challenge.

  Despite having given birth only days earlier, both young women walked with the regal dignity that was expected of them. If there was a bead of sweat on one’s brow or a queasiness in the other’s belly, it was only to be expected. Their lives, their reputations, their futures, as well as the fate of their birth nation, rested upon the outcome of the next few moments.

  The gathering in the great hall and in the city outside observed the approach of the princesses, hawkishly seeking any show of nervousness. The biggest bets were now being placed on which of their offspring would be the lucky one today and which the less fortunate.

  They reached the dais together, but Princess Umber, being the elder, permitted her sister Ember to precede her up the steps.

  Upon the dais, both turned the tiny bundles that they held against their chests so that the audience could see with their own eyes the children they brought to the test.

  The difference in the two babes was striking.

  One was dark as pitch, with eyes as white as alabaster.

  The other was white as alabaster with eyes as colorless as glass.

  The thousand and eight monarchs gasped.

  A blind prince and an albino?

  Murmurs of unease began at the corners of the great hall. Darting looks of doubt.

  In the streets and avenues, the news caused consternation.

  Envoys and dispatches wanted to ride at once, for this very news was enough to draw doubt, suspicion, even anger down on the Burnt Empire. What good, after all, many would say, were two such heirs? How could either of them prove worthy of the Burning Throne? How could a blind prince or an albino prince rule the Burnt Empire? Were Jilana and Vrath seeking to enrage the thousand and eight kingdoms? How could a dynasty as powerful as the Krushan possibly expect to command the world’s greatest empire with either of these two on the throne? Surely they were not fit to even be put to the Test of Fire? What mockery was this?

  The mood turned mutinous; the air thickened with the possibility of violence.

  Vrath sensed this sudden turn of mood and stepped forward.

  “Does anyone here challenge the right of these two boys to undergo the Test of Fire?” he demanded, his voice edged with steel, his grey eyes the color of frost, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed weapon.

  Eyes that had sparked defiance softened at once, voices stilled.

  The city grew quiet.

  None dared challenge the son of the late emperor Sha’ant and the river goddess Jeel.

  Vrath held his posture and gaze a moment longer, to suppress any further thoughts of rebellion.

  Then, when he was satisfied, he stepped back, offering a clear path to the throne to the princesses Ember and Umber.

  “Let the test begin. As the younger, Princess Ember’s son will go first.”

  Princess Ember walked the dozen steps across the dais to the massive throne, the eyes of the world upon her slender form.

  She stopped a full ten yards from the stonefire and held up the tiny bundle of life with both hands, displaying the child to the black rock. She kept her eyes low, her posture obeisant, and her tone prayerful, as she had been taught and made to rehearse a hundred times.

  “I, Ember, daughter of the Serapi nation, wife of the late prince Gada, daughter-in-law to Dowager Empress Jilana and the late emperor Sha’ant, submit my son, Adri, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, life of my heart, to your keeping. I pray to thee, bear him with grace, guard him with fire, empower him to rule the great Burnt Empire.”

  The last echoes of her words faded, leaving a pall of silence.

  The great black throne loomed, five yards taller than the princess, two yards wide, a cold, malformed darkness in the center of the vast chamber that was not human, yet brooded with sentient life.

  With a roar as savage as a vyag in the deep jungle, a tongue of fire shot out and grasped the tiny infant held aloft by his mother.

  Princess Ember cried out as the tongue of flame enveloped her newborn babe, took hold of him in a fiery grasp, and snatched him out of her arms. She fell to the gl
eaming dais, her fingertips scorched and smoking from the mere brush with the fire.

  The fire curled with tortuous slowness, drawing the infant to the great mass of black rock.

  The child himself was either too startled or too terrified to make a sound. The boy Adri stared, his arms and legs flapping wildly in consternation, but remained silent.

  The flame formed fingers that caressed and stroked the baby’s soft cheeks and round face. The fire reflected in his milky white eyes, but there were no pupils to contract, nor any reaction to the searing heat that must surely have been produced by that intense flame.

  The fire spoke to the boy in its own savage voice, whether threatening or cajoling, it was impossible to say which, for none of those watching spoke its language, and the only grown person who did understand, namely Vrath himself, showed no inclination to offer a translation.

  The babe calmed, his limbs slowing, his agitation ceasing.

  The fire murmured again, and perhaps this was just a fancy of their imagination, but the monarchs thought it sounded . . . pleased.

  Either that or it approved of the meal it was about to enjoy.

  Without further delay, the flame lowered the babe to the flattened part of the rock, the seat of the fabled throne.

  Held by the fist of flame, the babe appeared to be sitting upright of his own accord, caped by fire.

  Then: a slow growl, deep and rumbling as if from the bowels of Arthaloka.

  The throne burst into flame.

  A conflagration to match a giant bonfire.

  Yet a hundred oak logs ignited at once could not have produced a fire so intense.

  The thousand and eight gasped and stepped back, no longer eager to be close to the dais.

  Those who stood only a few dozen yards away swatted at their hair, their eyebrows, their mustaches, their fine robes and shawls, sweat popping out on their faces as they stared in amazement.

  The Burning Throne burned, and as it burned, it sang.

  You did not need to speak the language of fire to know the meaning of that song.

  It was a song of fire and fury, war and blood, death and glory.

  It blazed fifty yards high and ten yards wide, the throne itself disappearing, lost in a blaze too intense, too searing to look upon directly.

  Hands shielded eyes, the desire to witness overpowering the fear of fire. One ancient urge dominating another ancient need.

  Upon the dais, Princesses Ember and Umber, Prince Regent Vrath, Dowager Empress Jilana, stood unscathed and unharmed by the heat and the flames. If they felt the scorching fire, they showed no sign. Though the three women were only wedded to Krushan men—not Krushan by birth—they too were protected by the power of the stonefire.

  Vrath—as the child of both fire and water, on his father’s and mother’s sides, respectively—was both Krushan and immortal, and as such, doubly protected and empowered. He looked into the heart of the blaze and saw all, though he said not a word to anyone else. He listened to the savage song of the stonefire and understood every word and sound—and of these too, he said nothing.

  The monarchs assembled in the great hall, the fire maidens, and the royal guards were neither impervious to the power of the stonefire, nor were they immune to its appetites. Many recalled the terrible tale of the Great Devouring, when a false aspirant had angered the stonefire with his disrespect and arrogance. The throne had responded by lashing out and burning not only the aspirant himself, but every last monarch present, reducing them to a thousand and eight piles of ash in moments. Even the fire maidens, the guards, and the aides had not been spared, and the gurus said that the floor of the vast chamber was a foot deep in ash by the time the throne was finally done burning. Only the Krushan family members had themselves been left untouched, but that was only to be expected.

  Fear of a recurrence had some of the thousand and eight turning to look toward the exits, but none were permitted to leave or enter once a Burning began, and the ready spears of the royal guards outside would end their lives as surely as the fire. The fire maidens were unafraid, having been raised from birth to serve the Burning Throne; every last one expected to end her life in sacrifice to its service. If that end came today, so be it. It would be as much an honor to be taken by fire as to fall in bloody battle.

  But the Burning Throne did not seek any other prey.

  No tongues of flame darted out to yank nervous monarchs.

  The blaze, intense and white-hot though it raged, remained confined to the throne itself, and within the perimeter of the dais.

  Slowly, by degrees, the blaze subsided.

  The terror of the crowd abated.

  The thousand and eight heaved a silent sigh of relief, glad that they would not perish today.

  Their fear was replaced by their desperate desire to know the fate of the aspirant, the young prince Adri.

  They lowered their hands and stared at the Burning Throne.

  Almost to the last, all in attendance expected to see a tiny pile of ashes, no more than a handful or two perhaps, thus ending the foolish ambition of a mother who dared to suggest that a blind prince could rule the Burnt Empire.

  The flames diminished, soon relegated to but a few wisps and licks shrouding the throne, though the black rock from which the seat was carved now glowed crimson—or in some places white-hot—from the searing heat.

  Smoke, thick and white as fog, then dissipated with frustrating slowness, revealing at last, with tantalizing coyness, the result of the Test of Fire.

  5

  Prince Adri sat, held by gentle fingers of flame, upon the Burning Throne.

  A roar of excitement rose from the great hall.

  It was echoed by the crowds outside.

  The Burning Throne had chosen a new heir for the first time in a quarter of a century.

  Prince Regent Vrath silenced the gathering with a mildly raised voice. “Princess Umber may now offer her son.”

  The gathering stilled again, befuddled. What was the point of testing another aspirant? The throne had already chosen. Even the gurus were puzzled. There was no precedent for such an event. Never before had two aspirants been born on the same day. Krushan tradition demanded that once an heir was chosen by the stonefire, he or she ruled until their death. Yet it was true that, in the rare event that twins or triplets or multiple siblings were born, the eldest of them would undergo the test and, if accepted, would rule. By that same logic, it also followed that Princess Umber’s son, being the firstborn of these two boys, should have taken precedence.

  Later, it would be speculated that it was Dowager Empress Jilana and Prince Regent Vrath’s joint decision to put the younger boy to the test first, thereby giving him an opportunity to prove his legitimacy. Had they simply called upon Princess Umber to offer her son first, she being the eldest and her son the firstborn of the two, the point would have been moot. Princess Umber’s son would have passed the test and been accepted as the rightful heir of the Burnt Empire, destined to rule till his death. There would have been no call for Princess Ember to place her own son upon the Burning Throne.

  On such decisions are empires built, dynasties founded, and wars waged.

  But at that instant, in the great hall, none dared challenge the right of the elder princess to offer her son to the fire test, not while Vrath stood by and endorsed her.

  So the assemblage watched in silent wonder as a second child was offered to the Burning Throne.

  “I, Umber, daughter of the Serapi nation, wife of the late prince Virya, daughter-in-law to Dowager Empress Jilana and the late emperor Sha’ant, submit my son, Shvate, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, life of my heart, to your keeping. I pray to thee, bear him with grace, guard him with fire, empower him to rule the great Burnt Empire.”

  What followed was a reenactment of what had gone before.

  The Burning Throne took Shvate, son of Umber, and embraced him in its fiery heart, sang its savage song, blazed with as much fervor and delight, and accepted hi
m as rightful heir of the Burnt Empire.

  This time, when the flames died down and the white smoke cleared, the exultation that met the sight of the living infant was no less enthusiastic—for to show anything less than complete ecstasy over the anointing of a Krushan heir would have been unforgivably disrespectful—but there was also consternation and confusion amongst the monarchs as well as the people.

  What did this mean?

  How could there be two heirs?

  And what of their afflictions? One was born blind, the other an albino. In their own kingdoms, neither boy would have been deemed fit to rule.

  But there was more to come.

  After Princess Umber had retrieved her little bundle of flesh and stood proudly beside her sister, both now equal in their roles as the mother of an heir of Krushan, and therefore in line to be future Queen Mother of the Burnt Empire, Prince Regent Vrath made a final announcement.

  “As each of the two princes is gifted with special needs, and since both have been anointed by fire and proven fit to rule the Burnt Empire, it is the decision of the elders that they shall rule jointly for the time being.”

  The questions had been answered. The confusion had been cleared. The reasons for the dual Burning explained.

  There was some relief among the monarchs and the people.

  Perhaps this was tenable.

  The cruel consensus was that a disabled prince, on his own, was hardly a worthy ruler by the measure of tradition.

  But two princes, working together, well, perhaps they would be able to compensate for each other’s shortcomings.

  But there was one more surprise still in store.

  The Burning was not yet over.

  6

  A monarch stepped toward the dais.

  At once, the guards moved to stop him, weapons drawn.

  The monarch ignored them and called, “Prince Regent Vrath, Dowager Empress Jilana, I ask your leave to approach.”

  Vrath and Jilana exchanged a glance.

  Jilana spoke. “The court recognizes King Aqron. Speak. What is your purpose?”