Vrath considered this for a moment, then regarded Lord Mashkon. The nobleman quailed visibly, fresh sweat bursting out on his face and neck like a rash of hives.
“Go home, Lord Mashkon,” Vrath said. “Go home, embrace your son, and perform a sacrifice thanking the gods that he still lives. The reason he does is because the boy was only defending himself. If he had been attacking, then your son, and all the others, would now be dead.”
Karni
1
“Halt! Halt!”
The charioteer’s cry echoed through the quiet glade. The thundering of hooves and rumbling wheels briefly interrupted the idyllic calm, sending a flock of cranes rising up, wheeling and crying plaintively. Bison bathing in the shallows glanced up but continued their frolic. A baby elephant, her mother, and her aunts paused briefly to watch the new arrivals from the opposite shore of the river, then trundled on their way, curling their trunks to inform the rest of the traveling herd that humans were within eyesight. Deer, chital, rabbits, squirrels, foxes, even a well-fed cheetah lying lazily on a branch, all scattered as the dust cloud raised by the arrival of the human procession settled over Pramankota.
The charioteer drew the chariot to a halt with expert flicks and tugs on the reins of his horse team. The other chariots and horse riders also drew to a halt and dismounted. The guards took up positions, flanking the main chariot, while outliers rode through the grove, ensuring the area was clear of predators and any other potential threats. Once certain the area was secure, their lieutenant gave orders to take up sentry positions. The rest of the entourage—mainly maids, cooks, and serving boys and girls—began to set up camp. They unloaded enough food to feed a dozen queens and began lighting and stoking the earth ovens maintained here for the royal visitors who frequented the place.
Pramankota was only a few hours’ ride from Hastinaga, an idyllic grove on the banks of the Jeel, with plenty of fruit trees, game, shade, and grass slopes overlooking the river. A small waterfall and rock pool within easy walking distance provided a safe bathing spot for those inclined, and the great jungles known as Krushan-jangala were only a couple of hours’ ride from here, providing more game than all the kings and queens of Krushan could hunt down in their combined lifetimes. It was the royal family’s official picnic spot.
Karni loved coming here. It was her favorite place to get away from the hustle and crowds of the capital city. She loved the river and the grove and the sense of timelessness here. Though she was a princess of Mraashk by birth and Stonecastle by adoption—and well accustomed to the politics and public life of a royal—she found the imperial politics of Krushan too loud, too shrill, and too aggressive for her liking. It was a far cry from the court of her adoptive father’s kingdom. Hastinaga was like a thousand Stone-castles, all crammed into one enormous palace sabha hall, all speaking at once in a thousand different tongues, each with its own agenda, every one constantly pushing that agenda. In contrast, the leisurely pace of King Stone-castle’s court seemed like a nostalgic memory now, even though it had been only a few short years since she had come here.
“Thank you, charioteer,” she said, as she dismounted from the chariot.
The elegantly mustached charioteer bowed low.
The compliment was heartfelt. She genuinely liked the way he drove. That was why she had asked for him today. He treated the horses kindly, almost never using the whip, and he took care to groom, feed, and wash them whenever possible. She had hated the last charioteer who drove her only because of the way he had treated his animals. She had requested that Princess Geldry allow her the use of her charioteer on this trip and was pleased when her sister-in-law had agreed to let the man drive her. She was slightly less pleased when Geldry expressed a desire to accompany Karni on the journey but had not wanted to seem rude, and so of course she said yes.
She watched as her sister-in-law and brother-in-law both dismounted from the chariot, each guiding the other. Adri’s milky white pupils left no doubt about his blindness; he had been born with the condition, after all. It was Geldry’s habit of binding her own eyes with silk scarves that Karni didn’t quite understand. But she had been raised with impeccable manners and was too polite to ever question or critique anyone’s personal choices, especially when it came to such sensitive matters. If Geldry wanted to feign blindness to show sympathy for her blind husband, that was her choice. To Karni, it seemed like a denial rather than an acceptance: if Adri was born blind, then Geldry was also born sighted. How did disabling herself alleviate her husband’s disability?
Karni watched now as Adri dismounted the chariot easily, stepping down to the ground with the natural ease he always displayed. There were times when she could almost forget he was blind, so graceful and confident was he in his movements. In sharp contrast, Geldry stumbled as she misjudged the height of the chariot and overstepped; ironically, it was Adri’s hand that steadied her.
“It smells horrible,” Geldry said, wrinkling her nose and making a face. “What is that smell?”
Karni glanced at the chariot horses. Tired after their hours-long drive, they were now relieving themselves copiously. It was only natural, and anyone who traveled by horse or chariot regularly was accustomed to it. But of course, Geldry would presume that the smell was native to this place. Karni had only known her a short time but was already beginning to tire of her sister-in-law’s habit of belittling people and criticizing everything she encountered.
“It’s only the horses, Geldry,” Adri said pleasantly. He turned his head away, toward the river. “I can smell the river. And jambun trees. Come, walk with me.”
“Trisha,” Geldry called to her harried handmaiden, “see to the food. I’m starving! Don’t make us wait all day.” Geldry then issued several more instructions before finally letting her husband lead her through the grove.
Karni walked a few yards ahead of them, trying to stay as far out of earshot as possible without seeming rude. She came here to Pramankota to get away from the constant squabbling and bickering of court and palace. But bringing Geldry along was like packing a basket full of bickering along as well; the woman found something to fault in everything.
Karni found a spot by the river and asked her own maid to fetch her some fruits and light refreshments, none of the heavy meats and rich foods that Geldry had her servants scurrying around to prepare. The whole point of a picnic was to relax and enjoy the natural surroundings, the solitude, to commune with nature. Geldry had brought musicians along to entertain herself and her husband, and of course, she found reason to criticize their playing as well as their choice of songs.
Karni kept to her own spot, within sight of Geldry and Adri’s elaborate site, sipping on some juice and eating lightly. A curious doe and then a squirrel came up to her blanket, and she shared some of her repast with them, glad for the company. They were startled away by Geldry raising her voice to complain about the roasting of the meat and the temperature at which it was served. Karni finally tired of the fuss and rose to her feet, strolling farther away, making no pretense of her desire for solitude. Her personal guards accompanied her, keeping their distance to give her the privacy she desired, but remaining within sight and earshot in case they were required. Karni had only brought two maids along, and she told them to stay put and help themselves to the ample food while she took a stroll.
As Karni wandered closer to the river, the sound of the water rushing over the little rapids and the waterfall that fed the rock pool drowned out the last irritating traces of her sister-in-law’s grating tones. The sound of rushing water was peaceful, and the afternoon sun was bright, but the wind off the Jeel was cool and refreshing, and the air smelled of apples and jambun.
The water looked so inviting, Karni had a sudden desire to take a swim. Glancing around, she saw one of her sentries and beckoned to the woman. When the guard was close enough, she told her what she intended, and the woman nodded. “I will keep all at bay, Princess Karni. You will not be disturbed.”
The
sentries backed away to give Karni a wide area of privacy. They were all women, so there was no real concern of male lechery, and Karni had never been particularly shy about things like nudity, anyway. But now that she was a princess of Hastinaga, there were protocols and matters of royal etiquette to observe, and she had no desire to receive another lecture on the topic of queenly behavior from Queen Mother Jilana. Once was quite enough!
Karni experienced a moment of perfect bliss as she entered the water. It was both warm on the surface and cool below. The combination of the warm afternoon sun and cool river breeze felt wonderful. She immersed herself fully in the rushing waters and felt a sense of freedom she had almost forgotten. It recalled her younger days when she had frolicked and dived into the lake near her father’s palace at Stonecastle with her friends. Where were they all now? she wondered. All married and at their husbands’ houses, raising children and managing the endless work of building a family, no doubt. She knew she ought to cherish these precious years after marriage but before she was blessed with child; they would pass all too quickly and then she would be raising children of her own, spending her days swaddled in maternal responsibilities.
Pushing such thoughts from her mind, Karni splashed about, relishing the feel of the moving water against her naked body. She swam out against the current, enjoying the challenge of swimming upstream against the rushing Jeel, using muscles she used far too rarely these days. She swam almost a mile upstream before finally turning back and allowing the current to carry her downriver. She floated, lying on her back and letting the river do the hard work. The sensation of weightlessness, the sensuality of the water on her bare skin, the sleepy glade, the idyllic surroundings, the absence of metropolitan hustle and bustle, all carried her into a dreamlike state somewhere between waking and memory.
Something brushed against her arm.
She pulled back her arm instinctively but wasn’t initially alarmed; she assumed it was a plant or a flower, or perhaps even a fish. The lake back home had been filled with fish. They hadn’t bothered her, though when they brushed against the soles of her feet, it would tickle.
She opened her eyes languidly.
And lost her balance.
She splashed and went under the surface, swallowing some water, and emerged, coughing and flailing. She regained control of herself, looked around at the shore to get her bearings, and saw that she was almost back to the place where she had entered the river, the quiet patch of the grove near the rock pool and the waterfall. Her guards were keeping their distance, their backs turned to her. Her maids were a little further up the bank, stretched out in the shade of a tree, napping. She could glimpse the smoke from the sunken earth ovens and cookfires of Adri and Geldry’s entourage about five hundred yards further downstream.
She turned her head slowly, certain that all she would see now was the river, sunlight turning it into a field of sparkling gold, the lush green tops of the forest on the far bank. Nothing more. Nothing less.
There was a basket in the river.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she forgot to cycle her feet, starting to sink again. She controlled herself in time, remaining aloft, but her heart was pounding louder in her ears than the rushing of the river, and the sun that had felt so pleasant earlier now felt oppressively hot. She felt sweat burst out on her face and neck and under her arms. The breeze had died out, leaving an uncomfortable stillness. Somewhere in the jungle, a predator roared, and its prey screamed, even though no predators usually hunted at this time of day. The death cries of the unfortunate beast continued shrilly, far longer than ought to have been possible.
Karni felt her head spin. The river blurred around her, and the water began to feel clammy and cold against her skin. She forced her eyes to focus, to see the object that she knew could not possibly be there. A basket woven from bamboo strips, lined with soft cloth thickly piled inside, with a blanket on top, concealing and protecting its contents.
Her hand touched the basket again. She felt the weave of the bamboo, the smooth flat strips interwoven tightly. Good craftsmanship. The soft flannel of the blanket brushed her fingertips. She moved her other hand and brought it up under the bottom of the basket, floating inches deep in the river, and pressed her palm to the base. The basket was wet at the bottom but still watertight, even though it had floated downriver several yojanas, over a hundred miles in fact. It was a wonder it was still intact, that it hadn’t gone over a fall or struck a rock and been overturned, spilling its contents, drowning . . .
She heard a sob and looked around, startled, to see who had made the sound.
There was nobody else in the river except she herself, and the basket.
Another sob.
This time she recognized it as her own sound. The sob of a woman unable to believe what she had done, had had to do. Six years. Six years ago, she had been a different woman, a young girl, really, knowing nothing of life, the world, the future.
She opened her mouth and water rushed in at once, the Jeel tasting bitter, sour, acrid, even though she knew that the water itself was sweet, pure, delicious. It was the taste of regret in her mouth. Guilt. Remorse.
She grasped the basket with both hands, pressing against it from opposite sides as she and it floated downriver together.
She felt its weight, the burden bundled within those blankets and soft cloths.
She felt the life within stirring, moving . . . kicking.
She recoiled and let go, pushing it away, shoving it.
It’s a lie, an illusion, it has to be.
“No!” she cried. “No!”
Her voice was shockingly loud, even to her own ears. It seemed to drown out the sound of the water.
She turned her head and swam away ferociously.
She reached the shore and pulled herself onto dry land.
The mud sucked at her feet, pulling her back inside. Drawing her in. Refusing to let her go. Memory, pain, and sorrow, grasping her ankles with both hands, pulling at her, unyielding, unforgiving.
“I had no choice!” she said, softly this time. Hot tears spilled from her eyes, scalding her chilled skin. They felt like drops of hot oil from a burning clay lamp. She brushed them away roughly, smearing mud across her chest, her face, as she addressed the goddess of the river.
“I was young, unmarried, a princess. What would people think? What would I say? How would my father bear the shame? I did what I had to, I cast it away. It is a woman’s lot in this man-dominated world. We fight, we birth, we cook, we clean, we do everything men do yet enjoy only half or less than half the rights and privileges. We are judged at every moment of our lives, in everything we say and do. If it had been up to me, I would have kept him, raised him, loved him. But it was never up to me. Not even the boon he gave me, that wretched mantra! Who asked him for it? I didn’t want it. I never asked for a mantra to summon the gods! I did not want to take Sharra as a lover. I was not ready to be a mother at that tender age! And once the god Sharra left my bedside, it was as if almost no time had passed. I slept, and when I woke later the same night, my child was birthed. There was no gestation, no time to prepare my adolescent mind for such a momentous life event. And early the next morn, I birthed the child, alone and afraid, terrified and in pain, because the heat—the heat was indescribable! I saw him and knew that nobody would ever mistake him for an ordinary mortal child. How could I explain him to anyone? How could I live as an unwed mother? So I gave him away. I put him in a basket, bathed him with kisses and love and good wishes, and sent him to your care.”
The river murmured softly.
“Yes, your care. Jeel Mata! You are Mother of Rivers, and mother of our land. I entrusted him to your care, knowing that you would not let any harm befall a demigod, son of another god. Whatever happened to him after that was his fate and your responsibility.”
The river gurgled softly, the sound of a baby absorbed in its own dreaming.
“Forgive me,” Karni said. “Forgive me, forgive me, forgi
ve me.”
She fell silent, lying back on the muddy bank.
The river continued its eternal song, neither judging nor accusing. Simply flowing as it had flowed for a thousand years and would flow for a thousand more.
2
In her distressed state, Karni had come ashore on the wrong bank. She was a stone’s throw from the campsite but on the other side of the Jeel. She could see the cookfires of Adri and Geldry’s picnic from where she stood, and because it was late summer, the river was only a few hundred yards across. She was a strong swimmer; she used to swim thirty times that distance every day just as exercise back in Stonecastle. She didn’t think twice before pushing herself off from the bank and striking out. The current was steady, and by taking a diagonal angle, she would hit the other bank just about where she had started out.
The emotional outburst had drained her, but in a way it had also refreshed her. She had purged something from her system that she had been carrying inside for a long time. Was it the cleansing waters of the Jeel? Mother River’s powers of purification were legendary—even mythical. Or perhaps it was just being able to shout out her pain and regret aloud for the first time.
She was always surrounded by people day and night; that was part of being a princess. It had meant suppressing her anguish and sorrow for years. She had never told anyone about it, never even spoken about it aloud. That silence had taken its toll. She had become a subdued, quieter version of her younger self. Hastinaga only knew this quiet, subdued Karni; they had never seen the vivacious ebullient Karni who could turn cartwheels on a whim, perform somersaults in midair while plunging into a lake from fifty yards high, dance and play a dhol drum at festival time with total abandon, and laugh—oh, how she had laughed back then, anything and everything made her laugh, or shout, or sing. When was the last time she had whistled or even hummed a favorite tune? Back in Stonecastle, she would imitate birdsongs well enough to dupe the birds themselves. She had been a prankster, a tomboy, an entertainer, and a know-it-all, all wrapped into one bouncing bundle of energy.
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