Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  The stone-dead silence that met this drew a smile from the visitor.

  He turned to look at the assembly.

  “Why? Did you not know that the Krushan stranger that your Empress Jilana dallied with on the banks of the Jeel was none other than the former Emperor Shapaar? Does that shock you into silence? I see even Prince Regent Vrath looks a little taken aback. Vrath, were you not aware that your beloved and highly respected stepmother Jilana first mated with your grandfather Shapaar and bore him a son, before mating with and then marrying your father Sha’ant and bearing him two sons? Of course, she probably knew you would react thus when you knew the truth, which is why she kept it a secret for all these years. It must be a terrible shock to you personally, Vrath, to learn that Vessa is in fact your uncle as well as your half brother.”

  Vrath’s face gave no hint of his inner turmoil. Aloud, he said only, “By Krushan law, you are banished from Hastinaga.”

  “Krushan law.” Jarsun’s laughter was as sibilant as his speech. It filled the chamber and spilled out into the crowded streets, making mothers draw their babes closer and causing even the least religious to make signs of appeasement to their gods. “Krushan law is a joke. Your stepmother here has made a mockery of Krushan law. She violated Krushan law when she slept with one Krushan, then went on to bed and marry another Krushan. That is unacceptable, and you know it.”

  “The veracity of that allegation is as yet untested,” Vrath replied stiffly.

  “Listen to yourself! You speak as an officer of the court, using your formal legal language. But it’s all a sham and a show for the sake of the world. The truth is, my daughter Krushita has proven her right to rule the Burnt Empire. She has been tested and has passed the test. I am here now to demand that you comply with the law. Step down from your office as prince regent. Ensure that Dowager Empress Jilana steps down as well. Accept and acknowledge Princess Krushita, daughter of Princess Aqreen and myself, Jarsun Krushan, as the legitimate heir to the Burnt Empire and let her claim her rightful place upon the Burning Throne. Do this now and without further prevarication and prove that you are truly a man who abides by the law of our ancestors.”

  Vrath was a man torn apart by loyalty and law. Despite his demigod self-control, he could not conceal the war within himself. He turned to look at the parties named: Jilana. Aqreen. And lastly, the cheerful babe, Krushita, now contentedly asleep at her mother’s breast, the nipple still in her puckered mouth.

  Finally, he turned back to Jilana again. But before he could speak, she shook her head slowly from side to side. “No, Vrath.”

  “Mother . . .” he said.

  “Do not listen to Jarsun’s forked tongue. It spills only poison. He seeks to finish what he started thirty years ago when he defied his father and attempted to kill his brother, Sha’ant. He is a being filled with hatred and venom. He wants nothing more than to see the Krushan dynasty fall into ashes and dust. Do not let him poison your mind with his talk of law.”

  “But the law favors his argument,” Vrath said. “You demanded that Princess Aqreen name the father of the child, and he has presented himself. On what grounds do we deny the child her inheritance now?”

  “On the grounds that she is the daughter of a banished criminal. One whose name was stricken from the annals of Krushan history. Go look through this palace, through all our thousand and eight palaces and fortresses across the empire. Search all your life. You will not find a single bust, portrait, etching, or document that mentions his name or bears his likeness. He has been erased from history. He is no longer Krushan, and as such, any offspring he may bear, legitimate or otherwise, are not Krushan either.”

  Jilana turned and pointed to the sleeping babe in Aqreen’s arms. The mother had moved the child to her shoulder and was adjusting her blouse; she glared at Jilana through half-lidded eyes. “That bastard child is not Krushan and will never be Krushan. It is forever cursed by the sins of its father.”

  Vrath turned back to Jarsun, still standing with his foot on the lowermost step of the dais. “You have your answer.”

  “All I hear are the prattling words of a power-hungry widow who has not accepted the fact that her husband died a decade ago. These are the desperate ravings of a woman who refuses to let go the reins even though they are no longer hers to grasp. Break her fingers, pry them apart. It is the only way. If you will not do it, Vrath, then I will.”

  Vrath stared down at the man who was still his uncle by blood, if not by law. “Is that a threat?”

  Jarsun took a second step up, then a third, then a fourth and final step. He stood upon the dais now, towering a full head higher than Vrath, and above the entire room. “Why threaten when I can simply act?”

  “You cannot take the throne by force,” Vrath said, the fire in his eyes showing itself. Smoke trickled from his pupils, curling around his blue-tinged locks.

  “I do not need to,” Jarsun replied, his multiple tongues slithering in and out of his mouth, lingering at the corners of his lips. “The throne has already chosen. My daughter Krushita is the rightful heir.”

  “You heard my mother. The child is no longer Krushan by our laws.”

  “Laws are mere words. The stonefire speaks a tongue older than language itself. You heard what it said when it tasted of each of the three children. Only my daughter is whole and capable of governing this empire. A whole that is superior to those two halves.” He indicated the two newborn boys in their mothers’ arms on the far side of the dais. “It is called a Burning for good reason. The throne knows who truly deserves to sit upon it. It has delivered its decision, and its decision is the oldest law of all among our clan. That is the true seat of the power of the Krushan. Respect it, Vrath. Respect it and uphold it.”

  Vrath was silent for a long moment.

  In that silence, the world hung in the balance. History forked. Time bifurcated into multiple pathways, each leading to a different possible future.

  A deep growl sounded from the throne, like the rumbling from the belly of a volcano.

  Hastinaga waited.

  Then, with a single word, Vrath changed everything, dismissed the alternative futures, aborted the possibilities before they could even be conceived fully.

  8

  “No,” Vrath said.

  Jarsun hissed.

  “No,” he repeated. “You tried to kill my father. My grandfather banished you. You are no longer Krushan. Your child is not Krushan. She will never sit upon the Burning Throne.”

  “You deny your heritage,” Jarsun said. “You deny the test of fire, the voice of the stonefire.”

  “You denied them all the day you tried to bring down the House of Krushan. You left here swearing hellfire and destruction upon my father and his descendants. Today, you come back here asking to place your own daughter upon the throne? What about the time you swore you would break the Burning Throne into pieces with your own bare hands? I was not born then, but my father and grandfather told me all I need to know. You only sought to destroy us, to destroy everything, and now, after thirty years, you come back to claim it all? You are the hypocrite, Jarsun. You are the one who makes a mockery of your own claims.”

  Jarsun raised a clenched fist, and beneath the fabric of his robes, the arm that held that fist appeared to writhe and wriggle, like a dozen separate cords moving individually. “The blood that moves in me moves in you as well, Vrath. The power of the stonefire is as much mine to command as it is yours. I ask you one last time, give me what I demand peacefully or face the consequences. I can still fulfill my threat. I can tear apart that throne with my own bare hands. If you will not permit my daughter to sit upon it, then I will bring it all down, and the world will fall with it.”

  Vrath’s eyes flared fire then, great gouts of burning coals that skittered and fell, steaming, at Jarsun’s feet. Flames began to seep from his arms, his corded muscles, his coiled back, his every pore. The throne blazed red-hot and flamed, answering his demand for power. “Not while I still stan
d.”

  Jarsun’s robes writhed, his head flattening, his voice shrill, his very shape changing into something other than human.

  Before he could change completely, Princess Aqreen stepped forward and placed a hand upon his shoulder—or the place where his shoulder had been a moment ago.

  “Husband,” she said.

  Jarsun’s body stabilized and grew still. He stood as a man again. He turned his eyes to his wife. Multiple nictitating pairs of eyelids opened and closed, revealing triple, slitted pupils.

  “Let us take our leave,” she said.

  He stared at her. A soft questioning hiss escaped his lips.

  “What will you do?” she asked. “Fight your own family? Kill, maim, burn? Destroy your daughter’s legacy? How will that help anyone? This is not the way. Let us return to Reygistan. In time, Prophetess willing, we will find a way. Krushita’s claim will not be denied forever. Her time will come. When that day comes, these will be her cousins, her aunts, her great-aunt. She will play at their feet, she will clasp their hands, and she will dine with them. This is her family too. For her sake, we must leave now without spilling any blood. You promised me when we first lay together that you would forsake vengeance. Fulfill that promise now. No good can come from killing one’s own, Jarsun.”

  Jarsun looked at her for a long, hard moment.

  Then he let her lead him away, down the steps of the dais, and back to the entrance he had entered through. King Aqron followed after them.

  After an appropriate pause, during which throats were cleared, feet shuffled, and the thousand and eight waited, Vrath exchanged a glance with Jilana, who nodded once, curtly.

  Vrath addressed the great hall.

  “The stonefire has chosen, and the elders have spoken. Princes Shvate and Adri shall rule jointly. There is a new heir upon the Burning Throne.”

  He gave the prearranged signal to the waiting courtiers.

  “Let the jubilee commence!”

  9

  The celebration that followed, enhanced by a royal edict granting free access to the granary reserves and soma stores of the palace to one and all for the entire duration of the traditional feasting period, was as lavish as befitted the greatest dynasty of the known world. Runners leaped aboard their wagons and carriages and mounts to carry the news to the farthest ends of Arthaloka. Men dueled in the streets. Gamblers won or lost fortunes. Men conjoined with their wives in the hopes of fathering princes themselves. The wives countered, mischievously, that they had better, or else Mage Vessa would have to come and do it for them!

  Few stayed to hear the shocking afterword to that proclamation, delivered by Jilana to a select inner group of trusted familiars after the main assemblage had departed. These select few could be depended upon to spread the news cautiously, with care and empathy, among the people at large, downplaying the unfortunate defects of both newborn sons and emphasizing the fact that they were, nonetheless, heirs to the Burnt Empire and destined to sit upon its throne. A throne still defended and protected by none other than Vrath. Jilana was a wise enough stateswoman not to harp on the specific limitations both boys had been born with, mentioning them in passing as if it were quite natural for one son to be born blind and the other son to be born white-skinned in a race of dark-skinned people.

  What she did emphasize, in that iron tone that had made her a formidable figure in Krushan politics, was that Vrath remained firmly in control of the kingdom itself and would continue to steward it for as long as he was alive. The same held true of her, maintaining her position and influence over the governance of the kingdom for as long as was foreseeable. She was at pains to ensure that everyone understood and spread the message clearly that nothing had changed in the balance of power, and regardless of the afflictions of the two newborn heirs, Hastinaga itself remained as powerful as ever. Let none challenge that power, or they would face the fury of Vrath himself.

  The message was understood and passed on, through the circuitous routes that political messages traveled, reaching the bejeweled ears of every king, emperor, tribal chieftain, bandit lord, and horse master in distant kingdoms.

  Hastinaga had two newborn sons that day, both destined to follow the line of succession.

  One was born blind.

  The other was malformed in appearance.

  It was questionable whether either one would be fit to ascend the throne and, even if he did, whether he would be capable of staying seated.

  Yet the essential balance of power had not changed.

  The reins of power still remained firmly in the hands of the son of Sha’ant, Vrath.

  The seat of power was still occupied by the wife of Sha’ant, Jilana.

  Nothing had changed that day in Hastinaga, she insisted.

  And yet, as those who knew politics well understood, everything had changed.

  10

  The empire was already prosperous, powerful, and growing by leaps and bounds. The arrival of two new sons invigorated it. In many ways, a new age had dawned.

  But too many chieftains, traders, kings, farmlords, and other ambitious allies doubted the dynasty at crucial times, thinking that without a king, it was a leaderless horse team that would go astray or stumble over a cliff. “Hastinaga is an elephant without a head!” some said and plotted to secede, cheat, deceive, steal from, deny, or otherwise dupe the dynasty of the Krushan. Some thought that without a king upon the Krushan throne, a few years’ failure to pay tribute would not be noticed; others presumed that they could use it as an excuse to raid their neighbors’ grazing pastures and steal their water and horses and kine at will. Some chose the opportunity to declare themselves as rajan—kings in their own right. An astonishing variety of transgressions were committed in those early years after Sha’ant’s demise by those who believed that the power of the dynasty had waned and they could now do as they pleased.

  They were all proven wrong, bitterly wrong.

  Even when young, Vrath was a formidable prince and administrator. He was no young spoiled scion, seeking pleasure in wine, women, and princely pursuits. He considered the kingdom’s welfare to be his foremost mission, and put his entire energy into upholding it.

  After he became prince regent, he served only that purpose. And he did so with the single-minded determination of a demigod on a mission of Krushan law.

  There was a popular saying: Greatest of mothers, Jilana. Greatest of empires, Krushan. Greatest of cities, Hastinaga. Master of law, Vrath.

  Even priests feared his austere vows, for while priests were sworn to celibacy, they were permitted to make exceptions to sire heirs upon childless warrior caste women. Some seers even took the forms of other creatures in order to perpetuate species: in one case, a seer took the form of a deer to balance the population depleted by the growing human density in the Krushan forest. The great mage Vessa had emerged from his decades of solitary meditation to further the Krushan lineage.

  But for Vrath, the word was the law. His interpretation of Krushan morality was literal and uncompromising. When he had sworn himself to lifelong celibacy, he had meant it. Such unwavering adherence to a vow only added to his legend. Some believed, incorrectly, that it was the source of his indomitable prowess in war.

  Celibacy had nothing to do with Vrath’s prowess as a warrior and general, however. It was his fierce nature that had caused him to take that vow and, more importantly, adhere to it without once straying; that fierce nature did in fact reflect the ferocity of his will.

  Vrath was a force of nature unto himself.

  He rode down cattle thieves, trampling them into the very dung of the cows they had stolen. Land thieves were buried alive in the soil they had presumed to encroach upon. Water polluters were treated the worst: for to Vrath, water was the mother of life itself. They were fed, piece by living piece, to the giant turtles and crocodiles and gharials, while their kinsmen watched. Terrible was his vow, and terrible were his punishments, which no wrongdoer escaped. No transgressor received mercy. No quart
er was given to any lawbreaker. No excuse accepted for the very rich, the powerful, or even the pious. He treated—and punished—all equally.

  Those who assumed that the young prince who had been away with his mother for all his childhood and youth would surely be as soft and relenting as the very water of the Jeel River (which he worshipped daily) learned the truth the hardest way imaginable. Even when young, Vrath was formidable. But after Sha’ant was gone and the foolish ones began to presume that the demise of their king was an opportunity for personal gains, Vrath soon corrected any misimpression that the kingdom was kingless.

  As immovable as his grandfather Coldheart and as relentless as his mother, the river goddess Jeel, he soon demonstrated that he was like no king anyone had ever known. A king would at least take time to tarry with his queen or his concubines, go hunting every now and then, travel for pleasure or to accept social engagements in other kingdoms; at the very least, he would fall ill every once in a while, or require a respite from kingly affairs.

  Vrath, however, seemed never to rest. His vow was upheld so strictly, no woman was permitted to come within reach of him: even serving girls scurried to move out of his way when he strode the long, vaulting, marble-floored corridors of Hastinaga palace. The question of dalliances never even arose. He took no holidays, went on no hunts for pleasure, never accepted social engagements unless they were combined with Krushan business.

  He never once fell ill and remained in robust virile health, needing barely any time to recover even from the most grievous wounds received in battle, to the consternation of the royal healers. He seemed hardly to require sleep, or rest, or nourishment. Like a relentless juggernaut, he roved the kingdom, unstoppable and incorruptible, dispensing terrible unmitigated justice to the transgressors of Krushan law.

  Thereafter, Hastinaga became renowned as the kingdom which had virtually no crime or transgressions. For no matter where a crime was committed or what manner of transgression it might be, the terrible Vrath would somehow arrive there and ensure that justice was meted out without mercy or delay. Yet, to those who committed no crimes and applied themselves to concerted efforts for growth, he was magnanimous to a fault. Those whose conduct proved their loyalty to the Krushan dynasty he rewarded with lenient taxes and a share of any new bounty they assisted in procuring, whether by means of invasion of other kingdoms, or through the exploitation of natural resources.