Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  In response, she fitted an arrow to the bow and drew the string. “Ride on, Adran. Do not stop until we reach the palace.”

  He needed no further urging. With a clicking of his tongue and a waving of the reins—Adran had never used the whip in all the time he had driven her chariot—he urged the single horse forward. The going was slower than usual, since the chariot was meant to be drawn by two horses, but the single mare did her job stoutly, trotting ahead.

  “What is this one’s name?” Karni asked.

  “Sreela,” he replied shortly, his attention focused on the road ahead.

  Almost on cue, Sreela whinnied, shying away from something. Her nostrils flared and her head was turning aside. Karni saw the roan horse’s eyes flashing with panic. She sees and smells something she doesn’t like.

  At the crossroads ahead, the crowd had caught sight of the chariot and had turned toward it. Karni could see the men and women in the distance, staring in her direction. They appeared to be simply standing, none of them talking or exchanging glances. This itself was unusual. But there was something else odd about the way they stood, their arms and legs stiff and at awkward angles. Like someone caught in a rictus, frozen at an unnatural pose.

  Adran spoke softly to Sreela, attempting to calm her. The horse reluctantly did her duty, trotting on down the road, but seemed hesitant to pick up speed. She kept shying away, making it difficult for Adran to keep the chariot steady.

  The crowd began to move.

  It happened all at once—the entire group running suddenly toward the chariot. It was like a regiment of soldiers who had been given a command and had begun charging at the enemy. But these were not soldiers—they were mere ordinary citizens; Karni could make out men in dhotis, bare-chested as if they had woken from their beds in the middle of the night and wandered out-of-doors, women in nightclothes, even children in their loincloths. Why were these people out of bed at this hour? What had possessed them? The hand that drew the bowstring began to ease. How could she harm ordinary citizens? None of them were even armed.

  “Princess, be ready,” Adran said. He urged Sreela on with more tongue-clicking, but the horse was clearly panicking now.

  The crowd broke out into a run. Karni could see a very corpulent man wearing only a loin-cloth running directly at the chariot as if trying to win a race. His body language was all wrong: his limbs flailing in all directions, his head lolling back, his tongue dangling out, eyes bulging. He was breathing so loudly from the effort, she could hear him even above the sound of the chariot and the horse, huffing and panting. Karni had never seen anything like it before. There were others, all running in the same manner. They looked like they might break their arms and legs simply by running. They reminded her of something, but she could not recall what.

  Sreela shied away from the approaching crowd one final time, then rose up, kicking and screaming. Karni felt the entire front of the chariot rock. The poor creature was extremely agitated, and Karni could understand her terror; it was obvious to anyone, even a horse, that those people were completely out of their minds. There was nothing remotely normal about their behavior, their appearance, the wild way they rolled their eyes and breathed through open mouths . . .

  Sreela screamed and kicked out as the people reached her. The corpulent half-naked man in the loincloth was the first. Karni watched with horror as he ran straight at the rearing horse, not even slowing down or altering course. Sreela kicked out at him, shrieking, and her fore legs lashed at the man, one hoof catching him squarely on the head. Karni heard the sickening sound of the hoof making contact with the man’s skull. The man flew several yards backward from the force of the impact, knocking down two or three other people behind him, sending them all to the ground in a heap.

  Suddenly, the crowd was on them, all around the horse, the chariot, filling the road on either side.

  “Princess, use your bow!” Adran shouted.

  Karni saw Adran himself reach down and pick up a lance, holding it in a two-handed stance.

  The crazed people began to slam into the side of the chariot. The sound their bodies made as they smashed into the metal-clad vehicle was horrible. She could hear bones breaking, flesh slapping, could see blood spurting. They simply ran till they met an obstacle and collided with it—in this case, the chariot. She watched as an elderly woman struck the side of the chariot and broke her arm and nose. The woman staggered back briefly, blood spurting from her face, her arm dangling at an obscene angle—and grinned up at Karni with a ravenous, insane expression. She bared her mouth, revealing several gaps in her teeth, and snarled at Karni, then started to crawl over the chariot well to get at its occupants.

  Adran struck out with the lance, striking the old woman in the throat and sending her falling backward.

  “Back!” he shouted hoarsely. “This is Princess Karni’s chariot! Stay back!”

  No one was listening. It was complete madness, people rushing them at full tilt, slamming into the chariot, smashing their faces, limbs, and bodies into it with reckless force, scrabbling madly at the sides of the well, their eyes filled with rage and insanity, trying to climb into the cab, trying to get at Karni and Adran and pull them apart. She saw the lunacy in their eyes, the unnatural way they moved and breathed, heard the animal sounds they made, and suddenly she knew what they reminded her of: puppets. Wooden puppets on strings, held by an invisible puppeteer. Except these were human beings, bodies of flesh and blood and bone.

  Sreela screamed as a horde of people fell upon her and began attacking her. Karni saw people scratching, clawing, and biting, using everything at their disposal to attack the poor creature. She saw blood spurt and heard the unfortunate animal scream as the sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed her.

  People now were trying to climb over the chariot well, standing on the wheels, trying to get at her and the charioteer. Adran was working the lance furiously, his muscles straining, face shiny with sweat, as he struck out, swinging the bladed tip as hard and fast as possible. Karni saw necks, cheeks, and eyes, slashed and cut, blood spilling, skin ripping, and yet none of them screamed or cried out or even clutched at their wounds. They simply came on, mindlessly dedicated to their mission. Like puppets, forced to do as the puppeteer made them do.

  As if in a dream, Karni saw the corpulent man in the loincloth rise to his feet and come staggering toward the chariot once again. The spot on his skull where the horse’s hoof had struck him was staved in, his skull crushed beneath the clearly visible horseshoe imprint, brain matter and blood oozing down the side of his head and neck.

  Karni snapped back to her senses. She drew the arrow back and loosed. She saw it strike the chest of the old woman—who was standing on the wheel about to climb over into the cab—sending her falling back, taking two others down with her. Karni nocked another arrow and loosed again. This time a young boy went down—a child!—flying back with enough force to knock a grown man behind him off his feet. The child rose again immediately, the arrow embedded in his chest neither stopping him nor slowing him down.

  Karni loosed and loosed again, killing innocents left, right, and center. Surrounded by madness, fighting for her life, not knowing why. Adran fought alongside her, slashing and jabbing, thrusting and kicking, keeping the lunacy at bay as best as he could. Sreela screamed a final hopeless scream and fell onto her side. The crowd swarmed over her fallen body, tearing her open with their teeth, eating her alive . . .

  I cannot die here, Karni thought as she continued to loose arrow after arrow. The sounds of the crowd, of the madness, of the meaningless death and destruction all around faded to a blur.

  All she could think of was I cannot die here. This is not the way my story ends.

  Jilana

  Jilana stood at the high point of the palace and looked down on Hastinaga.

  The city was rioting.

  Even at this height, over a hundred yards above the city, she could see the madness in action. Every instant, soldiers brought new reports of
more fighting, more horrific reports. Parents assaulting children. Children killing their own parents. Women assaulting other women for no fault at all. Men and women randomly attacking others on the street, in their homes, in places of worship . . . There was no rhyme or reason to the attacks, no pattern, no sense. It was simply ordinary citizens attacking other ordinary citizens.

  Another report said that all the street dogs and alley cats in the city had banded together and were attacking humans. Elephants in the stockades had begun going insane, acting as if they were in heat, attacking one another, smashing out their own brains. Horses were impaling themselves on fences, kicking at each other, biting at their riders. Everywhere it was the same story: random acts of madness and mayhem.

  From what she could tell, about one in three people had been affected by this insanity. Even some of the palace guards had started attacking one another, cutting down their own comrades, even their own siblings or parents, or children who were also in the service. Cooks, maids, sentries . . . no one was spared. She had heard the madness was afoot in the richer sections of the city as well, yet there were no reports of looting, theft, burglary—it was only murder and violence. Senseless attacks aimed at destroying the sanity of Krushan society.

  A sound made her turn at once. Since the attack in her own bedchamber, she was wary of every shadow or whisper. A soldier stood before her, his sweating face revealing his nervousness and exertion. “Dowager Empress Jilana.”

  She frowned. “I was expecting Captain Manasvati. I told him to report directly to me.”

  The soldier’s throat worked. “The captain was . . . killed, Your Majesty. Eaten alive by a pack of wild alley cats. Several other soldiers died trying to save him.” He held up an arm, displaying an ugly wound, a long deep scratch that bled darkly. “We fear lockjaw may be the cause.”

  Jilana shook her head. “Lockjaw did not cause the entire citizenry to attack each other. No, soldier. This is being caused by supernatural forces.”

  The soldier gulped. “Supernatural forces?”

  She didn’t try to explain. “You should get that looked at. The feral creature that did that might well have lockjaw after all.”

  The soldier nodded slowly. He knew as well as she did that there was no cure for lockjaw. If he had it, he was as good as dead anyway.

  She tried to harden herself to overlook such things. We have to work with what we have, to make the best of whatever we’re given; not all of us have the powers of a Vessa, a Vrath . . . or a Jarsun. “I sent Captain Manasvati to locate and bring back Princess Karni safely. Did he succeed before he was killed?”

  “Nay, my queen. The streets are filled with thousands of rioters. Even some of our own number are afflicted with the madness. We are still fighting to keep the crowds from the palace doors. It is taking all the soldiers and resources at our disposal. The squads we have sent out to bring back Princess Karni . . . none of them have yet returned. The reports are that they have all been killed before succeeding in their task.”

  Jilana’s hand covered her mouth. “Holy Jeel. You mean to say the princess is still out there. In that?” Her hand flew out, indicating the city sprawled below her, crawling with antlike figures bent on mayhem and destruction.

  “Aye, my queen. She went to the temple of Goddess Jeel, on the far side of the royal reserve. We have been unable to secure that part of the city as yet. We are doing our best, Your Majesty.”

  “Do better!” she cried, unable to help herself. “That is my daughter-in-law out there! We must bring her home safely.”

  He looked down, silent. She immediately regretted her outburst. It was not this poor man’s fault. He was indeed doing his best: quite likely, even if he survived this night, he would be dead in the next day or two, frothing from the mouth and shuddering in a fatal fit.

  In a gentler tone, she resumed. “And Prince Shvate and Princess Mayla?”

  “They are in in the kingswood just outside of Hastinaga, hunting. At least, that is the last we heard of them. We have attempted to send word to the outer city reserves to inform them of the events in the city, but also that they are not to return until further word from you, as you ordered.”

  She nodded. “Yes, yes, that is good. Well done. And Captain Manasvati had said in his last report that Prince Adri had been located in the palace and he would report back on his condition. Is he well?”

  “Aye, my queen. As is Princess Geldry. There was some confusion, because neither were in their bedchamber and . . .” He trailed off, avoiding her eyes.

  She frowned. “And what?”

  “The circumstances in which they were found were somewhat . . . embarrassing.”

  She shrugged. “They are husband and wife. Nothing they do should be embarrassing to anyone.” Or even if they’re not husband and wife, she wanted to add, after all, they’re consenting adults. Why was the soldier even mentioning such irrelevant things?

  “My queen, forgive me if I spoke amiss. I simply meant that they were found in . . . different rooms.”

  “Wait. Did you say different rooms? What does that mean? Were they both not together?”

  “Nay, my queen. When the guards first searched the bedchamber, neither was anywhere to be seen. Later, Prince Adri was finally discovered in the southeastern quarters.”

  “The maids’ quarters?”

  “Aye, my queen. In the room of the maid Sauvali. They were both in a state of undress and . . . um . . . extreme passion.”

  “Oh,” she said, aware that her mouth had fallen open. This she had not expected, especially tonight of all nights. Adri and a maid? How long had this been going on? Was Geldry aware? She had a dozen questions, none of which she could ask this unfortunate soldier.

  “And while the guards were still searching the palace for Princess Geldry, the maids came running to report that they had found her.”

  “Where?” Jilana asked warily, afraid of what she might hear next.

  “In the verandah of her own bedchamber . . . um . . . undressed and also in a state of extreme passion.”

  “Alone?” Jilana asked.

  The soldier inclined his head, still not meeting her eyes. “It appeared that someone else had been . . . with her. Judging by her state and her condition.” He cleared his throat. “There was also a considerable amount of sand on the verandah.”

  “Sand,” she repeated, wondering if she were going insane too now. Adri in a maid’s room, in a state of “extreme passion.” Geldry found at the other end of the palace, also in a similar state, but with no man around. Just sand. Strange, yet no more bizarre or illogical than the other events of the night.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked, hoping he would say there was not. She didn’t think she could stand to hear any more such reports. Suddenly, she wished Vrath was here, instead of away on imperial matters. He would have been able to go out into the city and fetch Karni back safely at least. Goddess alone knew what the poor girl was going through right now. To think of her out in this madness and mayhem was horrible. But then to hear of Adri’s and Geldry’s antics, it churned her stomach. Had her entire family gone crazy this night? And why not? It seemed the whole city was.

  “Nothing more to report, my queen. We have secured the outer gates of the city in order to try to contain the rioting. As a last resort, if you order, we can take extreme measures.”

  She frowned. “Remind me. It has been so long since we experienced such a state of unrest in Hastinaga. What is the last resort in such a circumstance?”

  He swallowed again. “Burning.”

  She nodded as if she had been expecting exactly that answer. “Thank you for your service. Dismissed.”

  She turned again to the city as he left, staring out at the metropolis she had watched grow, rise, expand, and develop into one of the greatest cities in the known world in her own lifetime. Burning. If they could not contain the madness, the last resort was to burn it all down. So even if Jarsun failed in his mission to destroy Hastinaga, he
would still succeed. The city would still be destroyed, but by their own hands. But what else could they do?

  She looked up at the night sky, praying for morning to come quickly, and to bring with it a new, sane sunrise.

  And Karni. Keep my beloved daughter-in-law safe and sound. Bring her home to me. And Shvate and Mayla and . . .

  It was a long and fervent prayer.

  Reeda

  Reeda was scared.

  She had barred the door to the hut and had refused to open it to anyone, for any reason. She knew the city had gone mad tonight. She had glimpsed the first signs when she was sitting on the stoop, waiting for Adran to return. She knew that he had been summoned by Princess Karni to take her to the Jeel temple. That trip normally only took an hour or so, but he’d already been gone much longer. She had tried to sleep but had soon been roused by a sense of great unease. There were strange sounds and odors in the air, a peculiar light in the sky, the strangest moon she had ever seen. And then she had seen the dogs.

  She had gone outside to sit on the stoop, where she would be able to see Adran as he came up the narrow, winding lane to the top of the little hill where their hut was sited. She knew him well enough to recognize his silhouette even in the dark. She had waited up for him many a night. What else had there been to do, when one had no child of one’s own and it seemed unlikely the goddess would ever grant her one? Even after she had found Kern in the river and brought him home to raise as her own, she had still kept her habit of sitting out there and waiting for Adran. It pleased her to see his strong body walking easily up the hillside, his proud mane of hair, his long mustaches framing his hard jaw and handsome face. She loved him dearly.

  After Kern had come, she had been prepared to stay up till all hours, tending to his needs. But Kern had never followed the norm. Once he lay down for the night, he slept through till morning. Even as a babe, he would sleep until dawn, then wake and demand his feeding. It was uncanny. She had never heard of a child who slept so deeply, so completely, all through the night every single night. She had never seen Kern wake even once, for any reason whatsoever. Once he slept, he slept! Later, as she came to understand him better, she knew it was somehow related to his obsession with the sun. It was as if Kern needed the sun in order to thrive, and once the sun went down, he went down with it. His energy levels, his enthusiasm, his appetite, his desire for play, everything dimmed as twilight darkened the sky. Like a bird, he wanted only to bury his beak and sleep. And just like a bird, he woke before dawn, eager, hungry, and full of enthusiasm. And once the sun rose, he did as well. That was when he became himself, truly—with sunrise.