Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  In these dreams, Shvate was different, too. His skin and eyes were normal, the same dark shade as other people of his race. He could see and fight and do as he pleased—bare-naked if he wished—in full sunlight, with no need to always clothe himself in layers to protect his skin and vision from the sun, no need to wait until sunset to roam outside freely.

  They were a formidable pair in these dreams, Adri and he. They were princes of the world. They traveled the kingdom, did as they pleased, and no one who challenged them survived. It was so wonderful, he would wake up smiling from these dreams and jump out of bed, eager to go to his brother and tell him.

  Then, as he grew a little older, he understood that such a day would never come. He did not stop hoping and dreaming—indeed, he dreamed of it all the more after that—but a part of him accepted that it would never happen. Adri’s blindness was as permanent as the old sword guru’s missing arm.

  “Arms don’t grow back, blind men don’t see,” the old man had said gruffly to Shvate, swatting him on his backside with the wooden practice sword. “Hoping don’t make it so, just as dodging my sword don’t make you a better swordsman. Stand and fight. You’re a Krushan, act like one.”

  Still, Shvate felt bad for Adri. He was always falling, colliding with things, hurting himself, getting into accidents. Always forced to sit and listen while the other children played. Listen! Paagh! Where was the fun in listening to other children playing? It was as if Adri were being punished for something. Which was entirely unfair because Adri was the best behaved child in the entire palace.

  Shvate would, from time to time, try to involve Adri, try to make him get up and join them at play. He couldn’t help it; he wanted to share the fun, the joy, with his brother. These attempts almost always ended with Adri falling, or knocking heads, or taking a tumble, and after a while, Shvate stopped encouraging his brother, not wanting to be the cause of him sustaining further injuries and humiliation. Yet he missed him.

  As more time passed and they both grew a little more, Shvate started to feel a different way toward his brother: protective.

  He began to accompany Adri around wherever he went, watching him, calling out his name to warn him if he saw Adri about to fall or trip or dash into something. The wet nurses were there for that, of course, and they did their task admirably well, but Adri had taken to ignoring them and deliberately walking where he pleased, as an act of defiance. When Shvate called out a warning, however, Adri always responded. He would stand still and wait until someone provided him guidance or instructed him to walk the other way.

  Shvate was watching Adri the day of his brother’s naming day celebration.

  The family had a tradition of spending naming day celebrations on the banks of the Jeel, always at the same spot, under the great banyan tree. It was the place where Grandfather Sha’ant had met his first wife, Grandmother Jeel. It was also the place where Uncle Vrath had first been seen by Grandfather Sha’ant, when he, Vrath, returned from his grandfather Coldheart’s abode. There were other things that had happened at this spot as well, something to do with babies and the river and Grandmother Jeel, but these were things that the wet nurses did not speak of to the children.

  The family spent all naming day celebrations there, bringing cooks and tents and servants and throwing a grand feast for hundreds and thousands of the highest nobles and aristocrats and ministers and diplomats. There were dancers and musicians and lavish feasts, along with colored banners and horse riding displays and wrestling matches.

  None of which could Adri see, even though it was his own naming day celebration.

  When Adri wandered away from the festivities on his own, Shvate noticed. He saw also that the wet nurses and maids were busy gossiping. It was not their fault. They assumed that Adri was listening to the music. But Shvate was sitting nearby and he could tell that Adri was fed up listening, and who wouldn’t be, when all you could do was listen?

  So when Adri got up from his comfortable silk-cushioned seat and wandered away, Shvate followed him—

  And thus saw when Adri was about to step off the edge of the riverbank.

  He leaped forward, grabbing hold of his brother and pulling him back to safety. He banged the back of his head on a small rock when he fell, but he didn’t care. He was happy he was able to save his brother from falling into the river. He couldn’t have borne it if Adri had fallen and drowned, or even just been hurt badly. Shvate had to look out for him.

  They were brothers after all.

  Jilana

  Jilana and Vrath watched Adri and Shvate playing from the terrace of the palace.

  It was some weeks after Adri’s naming day. Ever since that day, Shvate and Adri had become inseparable. Even now, Shvate was teaching Adri how to wield a sword in the courtyard. They were using wooden practice swords, and Shvate never let his swings connect with his brother’s body, but Adri could not help striking Shvate occasionally. Vrath saw Shvate wince when the side of Adri’s sword caught him on his collarbone. But Shvate did not lose his temper or admonish his brother. Instead, he congratulated him on a “kill strike.”

  “They love each other very much,” Jilana said.

  “Yes.”

  Jilana glanced at Vrath. He was her stepson by marriage, but he was, after all, a demigod. It lent their relationship a curious edge. Nominally, Vrath deferred to his stepmother, and by law, she was the dowager empress of the Burnt Empire. But Vrath, as the eldest living Krushan male and son of Emperor Sha’ant, was prince regent. And because he ruled and governed the empire, controlled and oversaw every aspect of its administration—and of course kept it safe and prosperous—he was regarded with the same respect as she. Somehow, the balance of power worked. They had never been seen to argue or heard to disagree. The mother-son bond between them thwarted any political attempt to divide and conquer. They were a perfect pair, and together they ran Hastinaga and the empire as smoothly as a pair of charioteers ran a sixteen-horse team.

  But they were nothing alike.

  The young princes, though, despite their physical differences, were, in their hearts, very alike, and when Jilana watched the growing bond between them, it made her feel good. She had been so disheartened when the sons of the princesses Ember and Umber had been born blind and albino. Shvate had found ways to overcome his disability, by dressing to protect his sensitive skin and eyes in sunlight, and training twice as hard to overcome any questions of his talents as a prince. The boy had a big heart.

  But while Adri was stout of heart as well, his disability was harder to overcome for the role he wished to play. With his heightened hearing and other senses, he could function well enough to live comfortably the rest of his life, even perform certain princely tasks that only required listening and delivering judgment. But how could he be expected to ride into battle, to go to war, to confront enemies or suppress rebellions, survive assassinations—all the warring and marauding that was an integral part of being an heir to the most coveted throne in the world?

  It did not help that Adri’s mother had turned her face away from him. Since the day he was born, she had not demonstrated any affection or concern for his well-being. In a sense, it was as if, when it came to her own son’s existence, it was she that was blind.

  Shvate’s mother was only a little better; she, too, clearly resented the way she had been impregnated. Her head understood that it was necessary for the kingdom and the lineage; her heart rebelled. Jilana had seen her look at Shvate with a clear expression of distaste for his pale, colorless features, his white hair and white eyebrows, his inability to endure bright light or sunlight. But there was still some affection there underneath the distaste. Umber did not hate Shvate the way Ember hated Adri. She, at the very least, tolerated her son, though Jilana knew that this was more than partly because Umber understood that with Adri’s disability, it would most certainly be Shvate who eventually ascended to the Krushan throne, despite the public proclamation of a joint rule. That conviction itself made her albino so
n appear tolerable in her eyes. Vain woman, Jilana thought, but then sighed, for was she not herself vain as well? Would she have reacted so differently had she been in Umber’s place? It was easy to judge from afar.

  Vrath was watching the two boys now with a strange expression; his striking grey eyes were directed at them, but his gaze was so distant he might have been looking at the horizon.

  “The talk among the citizenry concerns you?” Jilana said.

  He turned that thousand-yojana stare upon her, and Jilana had to force herself to meet it without flinching. One did not easily match stares with Vrath. She could not even imagine what it must be like to meet this giant of a man on the battlefield, with his enormous strength, knowledge, and ability to defeat seemingly any opponent. The sight of him alone was known to send warriors fleeing—and those that did had good reason.

  “The citizenry always talk. It is what they do,” he replied.

  She sighed. “Nevertheless, it concerns me. Because there is some truth in their talk.”

  He kept his eyes locked with hers. “If it is true, then it cannot be helped. Let the people talk.”

  “This kind of talk could lead to trouble. Even an uprising.”

  “Uprisings can be quelled.”

  “It would better if we do not have to kill our own people.” She thought for a moment, then amended her statement: “Any more than we absolutely must.”

  Vrath did not seem perturbed. “I can find out who seeks to foment rebellion. Root them out in their nests, wipe out any uprising before it raises its hood and slithers out to attack us.”

  Vrath said the words as if he were speaking of the extermination of pests—and that was how he differed from other men: it was not that he was cruel or cold, but that he simply saw things as they were, harsh and dangerous, saw no need for any euphemistic softening of the jagged edges.

  Jilana, meanwhile, had never been able to regard crises with such dispassion. She felt strongly, intensely, and did not hesitate to express herself in like fashion. Her mother had been a hot-blooded fisher princess whose clashes with Jilana’s father had been legendary. She had not been born of a glacial river as Vrath had, but she knew when to fight and when to fight.

  “I do not doubt your ability to maintain order, son of Sha’ant. But if we acted against every king, noble, and warrior who spoke against Hastinaga, we would soon have no one left to govern.” She shook her head. “No. Violence will not resolve this problem. We must do more than simply crush the poison tongues. We must silence them.”

  Vrath said nothing for a moment before responding. “I do not comprehend your meaning, Mother. Do you wish me to use violence to quell the unruly or not?”

  Jilana thought before answering. “I wish you to do nothing at all,” she said. “It is elsewhere that I seek the resolution to this dilemma.”

  She gestured with a small raising of her chin, pointing to the two boys in the courtyard below. “It is to the future generation that we must look to silence their own detractors. They are the cause of the gossip and unrest. They must answer their critics by their own actions.”

  Vrath regarded the boys below. His expression did not change, but his words betrayed an uncharacteristic lack of conviction. “And you believe they can do this? Bear the weight of the Burnt Empire and my father’s legacy on their slender shoulders?” A blind boy and an albino was what he left unsaid.

  “They are Krushan,” she said simply.

  He had no answer to that.

  They watched the two boys continue their swordplay long past their mealtime. By the end, she observed, Adri was actually able to parry and counter Shvate’s strikes at least a third of the time. She watched thoughtfully. Vrath was right about one thing: the fate of the empire would rest on these young shoulders, whether she liked it or not. For better or worse, they were Krushan princes. She decided then that she would not make the mistake that so many others had: she would not prejudge them. At least let them be blooded and then we will see.

  “Perhaps,” Jilana said, “it is time to take them to Guru Kaylin.”

  Vrath

  Vrath drove the four-horse chariot with the ease of a master charioteer.

  He and the two princes were on their way to the guru’s hermitage. Before they left, Jilana had fussed over them endlessly, giving them so many instructions that he was sure they would forget them all the instant they arrived. The wet nurses had wailed and cried their hearts out as he rode away with their beloved boys. Soon, the palace complex was long behind them, the city’s rear sally gate their last glimpse of the City of Elephants and Snakes.

  The chariot rumbled over the kingsroad, fields of crops rolling past on either side, succeeded in time by the open ranges of dairy, cattle, and poultry farms. Some of it fed the bottomless appetite of Hastinaga, but the larger part was sent off to other parts of the empire by wagon trains, or to foreign kingdoms across the spice route by ship or by land. Vrath noted that the boys were being much quieter than usual, and so he contemplated reeling off some figures—quantities of grain harvests, efficiency of cattle production, and the like—to make conversation, but then decided that the last thing two young boys about to be separated from their homes for many years wanted was a lecture on economics.

  Vrath glanced back at them. Shvate and Adri were both standing in the well of the chariot, staring out at the passing countryside. The chariot was designed to shield grown men, and so the two boys could only just barely peer out over the edge. They were both of a good height for their age, physically strong and well built. If not for their respective handicaps, they might have made fine warriors, Vrath thought, but then corrected himself: They may yet still.

  That was why he had agreed with Jilana that they be taken to Guru Kaylin. Vrath and Jilana, as wardens of the empire, needed to know sooner rather than later if one of the two could someday serve as emperor of Hastinaga. And if not . . . well, that was a fjord he would bridge when he came to it. For now, all that concerned him was putting the heirs of his father’s legacy to the test. And none could administer that test better than Guru Kaylin. If they were of good mettle, the guru would surely hammer them into fine swords.

  They were finally past the long line of farms just outside the city, and now passing the lumberyards. The scents of grain and barley had given way to that of buffalo and fowl, and now the aroma of fresh sap and timber overtook them. Men working in the yards saw them passing and paused to watch them go by. Shvate and Adri took in every sight and sound as if their lives depended on it.

  “It is a long ride,” Vrath said, turning his head so the wind would carry his words to them. “You may lie down and rest if you desire.”

  Vrath had rugs laid on the floor of the well for just that purpose. Refreshments too. The latter were the wet nurse’s doing.

  Neither Ember nor Umber had come to see her son off, as was the usual custom. He assumed they had said their goodbyes in chambers. He knew that neither mother doted on her son, but was still somewhat surprised at this seeming lack of parental emotion.

  Vrath did not feel human emotions the way most mortals did, but he did understand what was appropriate under certain circumstances, and what was not. It was unfortunate that the wives of Gada and Virya did not love their sons as they should have. A mother’s love, especially a queen mother’s love for her princely son, could give a boy a great boost. Vrath knew that he himself would not be the man he was today if not for his mother’s strength.

  Jeel had a heart of ice, it was true, and felt even less emotion than he did; if he was half mortal, she was no mortal at all, even when she assumed the physical form of one. But she loved him deeply in her own way, and he knew that he could always count on her support. He still recalled how hard it had been for him to accept that he was to leave his mother’s embrace and take his place in the mortal world by his father’s side. It was a long time ago, but to Vrath the pain was as a fresh prick from a thorn.

  The memory of his own separation from his mother made him
empathize a little more with his two young wards. They were still standing, leaning their chins and hands on the rim of the chariot well as the world went by.

  The chariot had left the lumberyards far behind, crossed the first low hills, and was now rumbling through the relatively sparse wood before entering the formidable jungle for which Hastinaga was named.

  It had been more than half a watch since leaving Hastinaga. The boys ought to have desired rest by now, or nourishment. Children always seemed to require one or both of those two things long before Vrath himself ever would. They still remained unusually quiet, especially in light of their last day in the city, when they had been quite loud and boisterous during their sword practice, clearly enjoying their newfound activity.

  The answer came to him late, but it came nevertheless: They are feeling anxious and scared of what lies ahead. Like minnows out of their depth, without the comforting presence of their usual caretakers.

  But Vrath could divert their minds from their homesickness. It was something that had worked for him, years ago, when he himself had left his mother’s grasp and first gone out into the world on his own.

  There was no reason it should not work on the young princes as well. For did not the same Krushan blood run through their veins?

  Adri

  Adri was surprised when he felt the chariot wheels slowing and heard the creaking of the taut leather reins as Vrath steered the horse team to a halt. He had not expected to arrive at their destination this soon. He sniffed warily. It smelled like forest, but it had smelt of freshly cut lumber only a few hours before. Surely Guru Kaylin’s hermitage could not be such a short distance from the city?

  “We are stopping in a clearing,” Shvate’s voice whispered in his ear. “I don’t know why.”