Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  That was when she looked up and saw the sun rise in the middle of the night.

  Reeda

  Reeda had, at first, thought that the fire was in Kern’s bed, but soon realized it was not a fire at all and that Kern was, in fact, quite safe and sound.

  Still sleeping deeply beneath his sheet, he lay exactly as she had last seen him, several minutes earlier. But now there was an illumination emanating from his body—buttery yellow light leaking from his skin, his head, his toes, every inch of his being. She could see it through the sheet, limning his outline.

  He was literally glowing.

  She couldn’t understand what could be causing this strange phenomenon. It frightened her and made her want to cry out, but she forced herself to breathe and stay calm.

  He is no ordinary boy, you know that already, Reeda, she reminded herself. From the very first time she had laid eyes on him, she had known her little Kern was special. The armorlike growths on his shoulders, chest, back, and ears. The way he spent every waking minute under direct sunlight, as if his body craved it, needed it, drank it in the way a thirsty camel gulped down liters and liters of water. Various incidents over the years had only confirmed his special qualities, including that first fight with the rich noble’s spoiled son and his mates, ending in open court before Dowager Empress Jilana and Prince Regent Vrath, when he was but six. Other incidents with similar results followed in subsequent years. Now, although a year later, Kern had grown in status more than height or breadth. Still small and relatively puny for his age, his reputation had grown formidably. What was it Adran always said? It’s not the size of the hound in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the hound. That was very true of Kern, and every boy in the area knew it well.

  Now when Kern walked down a street, most boys—and even grown men—knew well enough to stay out of his way. No one challenged or threatened him anymore—and those who had done so in the past had cried out their stories loudly enough for everyone in the neighborhood to know better. His fighting skills were so prodigious, even Adran said he had never heard of anyone with such ability other than Vrath himself. In his own small way, little Kern was a legend in these parts. Word of him had even spread to other parts of the city, and from time to time Reeda had seen groups of boys or young men, even some sellswords, hanging around the vicinity, waiting to lay eyes on the young fighter who had bested a dozen in his first fight, armed with only a wooden practice sword.

  But this was an entirely new addition to his legend.

  He was literally glowing with light from within. Not just a dull glow, but brilliant yellow, luminous light that looked like that of the sun god himself. Reeda gazed up at the dappled light on the ceiling, the walls, the floor of the room—if she had not known it was coming from her son, she would have believed it was the light of the sun.

  As she watched, Kern stirred in his sleep. This too was unusual. He was moving his legs and arms, adjusting his position, raising his head.

  Then—suddenly—he opened his eyes.

  The light from his eyes shot up to the ceiling like a single large beam of sunlight. Bright as the glow from his body was, the beams emanating from his eyes were extremely intense. Golden-hued and steady as god-given sunlight.

  Kern sat up.

  Reeda took a step back. What are you doing, Reeda? she asked herself. Are you afraid of your own son? Truth be told, she was, at least a little.

  Though his eyes were open, Kern did not appear to be awake. He seemed to be staring at the wall with no awareness. He was sitting up, straight and still, barely breathing.

  Reeda stepped forward again, tentatively.

  He did not react.

  “Kern?” she said softly.

  Kern did not react to the sound of his name.

  “Kern, are you awake?” she asked.

  Still no response.

  She watched him uncertainly, wondering what to make of this. But then, without warning, he rose to his feet. The sheet covering him fell to the bedding, and Kern stood and turned around to face the doorway. Reeda could see his face clearly now, glowing with the same yellow light, his eyes beaming the brightest. There was no recognition in his gaze, no response. He might as well have been fast asleep, yet his eyes were open and staring dead ahead.

  “Vashta?” she asked, with some concern now.

  He did not even look at her . . . and then began walking. He walked out of the room and down the hallway. When Reeda realized he was heading toward the front door, she exclaimed and ran after him, her bare feet padding across the floor.

  “No, don’t open the door, there are dogs—” she said.

  Kern opened the front door anyway, ignoring Reeda’s pleas, and stepped outside, barefoot and still dressed only in his loincloth.

  Reeda gasped and ran to the doorway, then stepped outside without hesitation. Kern didn’t know about the dogs. What if they—

  She stopped short.

  The dogs had all risen to their feet.

  Thousands upon thousands of them, filling every available space on the hillside, in the street, between the houses, in the front yards, and even on the walls and every available surface.

  They were all now staring at at Reeda’s sweet boy.

  Kern stood on the stoop, staring blankly at nothing at all. His body glowed with the bright, yellow luminescence. It leaked from his pores, flowed from inside his skin, illuminating the night, dispelling the darkness.

  Reeda could see the upturned faces of the dogs caught by Kern’s light. They were staring raptly at the little boy standing there. Their animal eyes gleamed and reflected back the light as animal eyes did. Their mouths were shut, their tongues no longer lolling. They were gazing at him as if mesmerized. As if they had been waiting for him to waken and emerge from the house.

  Reeda froze where she was. If all these dogs began attacking her Kern, would his prodigious fighting skills be enough to save him from such an onslaught? Other boys or men would attack with weapons, one or two or maybe ten at a time. But thousands of dogs, each with a set of teeth sharp and strong enough to bite a man’s fingers off in a single snap—how could anyone hope to defend against such a horde? Besides, Kern was completely unarmed, and he stood there in his langot, apparently still asleep but with his eyes open.

  For a long moment, neither Kern nor the dogs moved beyond simple breathing and blinking.

  Then Kern began walking.

  He went down the steps of the stoop and reached the street level, and to Reeda’s shock, the dogs moved aside for him. He continued walking out to the gate, then into the street beyond. As he passed them by, each dog began to turn and follow him with their eyes, watching him intently.

  Kern continued walking down the hill. Unmolested.

  The dogs that were behind him began to move forward, following him, now. The dogs still ahead of him stayed where they were, waiting. When Kern passed them by, their heads turned, following his progress. Once he had walked by, their bodies turned as well and they began trailing after him.

  Reeda didn’t hesitate for even a moment. Once she saw that the dogs were not hostile toward her Kern, she went down the steps, following in her son’s wake.

  Kern walked quickly downhill, moving much faster than Reeda could. The dogs began trotting, picking up speed. The noise of thousands of claws clicking on the ground was surprisingly loud. Reeda followed just behind the enormous horde of raised tails, trying her best to keep pace.

  It was the strangest procession she had ever seen. She kept glancing at the houses on either side of the street, but she saw not a single face or pair of eyes looking out. Everyone appeared to be fast asleep. She wondered how a person could sleep through such a night, but then again, it was a very strange night—even the moon above was as if in a state of eclipse, yet there definitely was no such occultation tonight, or she would have known. Perhaps that was what was keeping people indoors, the superstitious fear of an eclipse? But that did not explain why they were not looking out of their
windows. Even the strange sight and sounds of a young boy followed by thousands of dogs did not warrant their attention—with a boy at the head of the procession whose body and eyes emanated a brilliant bright yellow glow, no less.

  The light lit up the dark streets and the fronts of the houses Kern passed by, and reflected off the undersides of the roofs. For the first several hundred yards, they encountered no other people. Then they turned a corner, the smaller side street giving way to a larger avenue, and Reeda gasped: the avenue was packed with people.

  It looked like all of Hastinaga had poured out of their houses and taken to the streets. But not just citizens; soldiers, too, were among the crowd. Apart from the obvious strangeness of this large crowd gathered on a city avenue in the middle of an already strange night, Reeda noted several odd things as well.

  The crowd was dead silent, for one thing. Not a single person was talking or saying a word. Not even to each other. But there were other oddities too: soldiers and citizens mingled freely, which was not protocol. She could see children, women, older people, soldiers, priests, merchants, rich, poor—all together, literally rubbing shoulders. Many of those shoulders were bare, as the crowd appeared to be in their nightwear, as if they had risen from their beds and come out into the streets spontaneously. Even many of the soldiers were only partially clothed, as if they had been undressing after a tour of duty and suddenly been struck by the urge to go out and wander the streets.

  All of them were staring up at the sky, seemingly at the moon specifically, as if hypnotized. Their mouths hung open, dribbling saliva, drooling senselessly. And the way they stood, limbs hanging limply, looked completely unnatural, like puppets dangling from loose strings.

  Then Kern came around the corner onto the avenue, followed by his army of dogs—

  And the crowd reacted.

  They turned as one, the noise made by their bodies turning, their clothes rustling, their feet shuffling on the street the only sounds in the silence of the night. Their slack-jawed faces turned to face Kern, their eyes struggling visibly to focus on him, like a walleyed person looking two different directions at once. The way all of them were staggering was rather bizarre, as if all in this crowd were suddenly somehow incapable of moving their bodies normally. In a way, they reminded Reeda of the oddity of the dogs—but only in the perfect unison with which they moved, like they had rehearsed this very moment a thousand times. Except that whereas the dogs had still seemed like dogs, their four-footed bodies moving surely and normally, these people seemed to no longer be human beings, not normal human beings at least—it was like they were all afflicted with some condition, the exact same condition, and it linked them into a human chain joined by an invisible thread. The actions of any one of them were perfectly copied by all of the others in perfect synchronicity.

  Now they all, as one, looked at Kern. He walked down the avenue toward the crowd, the dogs following dutifully behind him—and the crowd, as one, charged at him.

  One moment they were still, staring slack-jawed and walleyed, heads lolling, arms limp, legs loose and uncoordinated. The next instant, they were charging toward Reeda’s son, bodies moving so erratically and spasmodically that she thought they must be afflicted with some awful disease, except she knew of no affliction that could work and spread—infecting thousands of healthy, ordinary people—this quickly, let alone cause them to behave in such a crazed manner.

  They charged at Kern with mouths open, teeth bared, and now Reeda heard them speaking for the first time, if the noises that emanated from them could be called speech; what Reeda heard was more akin to snarling, growling, roaring, grunting, chuffing . . . a variety of incomprehensible noises better suited to animals than to people.

  And then, with a shock that rippled down her spine and raised the hackles on her bare arms, Reeda witnessed perhaps the strangest event of the night: The dogs replied. With words.

  “Protect!” they cried, shouting with one voice from a thousand throats. “Protect! Protect!”

  And the army of dogs charged.

  Adri

  “Geldry?”

  Adri felt his way along the bed. His hand found his wife’s foot, and he hesitated. She appeared to be still, and from the faint sound of her breathing, seemed to be asleep. He started to rise again, suddenly overcome by the urge to remove himself from her presence, to be anywhere but here. He was not prepared to do this, to meet with her so soon after . . . after committing infidelity. He was too confused by his own feelings. He needed time to sort through them, to make sense of what had happened tonight, what he had done.

  He stood up and started to make his way back toward the doorway. Yes, he would leave her be now, spend the rest of the night in his sky chamber, resting, recovering in the serene environment designed to promote mindfulness and healing. Perhaps tomorrow he would come see her. The maids had said she was well, merely resting, so there was no reason to be concerned. He needed some time alone, apart from her.

  The worst thing was, he didn’t feel guilty. He knew he should feel guilty, terribly remorseful and ashamed of himself for what he had done. Slept with another woman. A maid, at that. Someone he barely knew, had never spoken a word to until today, apart from asking for a drink of water or for refreshments, or some such routine request. Someone he had never given a thought to until the moment he woke in her room and found himself naked in bed with her. He had cheated on his wife, defiled the sanctity of their marriage vows, and he ought to feel horrible for having done that.

  Instead, he felt refreshed, liberated, more relaxed than he had been in years, perhaps in his entire life. He felt so content, so satisfied, so much at ease. The lovemaking had been wonderful, like nothing he had ever experienced before, but that was only part of it. The real reason had been the way she had accepted him, joined with him, treated him as a lover, a man, an intimate friend, without judgment, rancor, emotional entanglement, or complication. There were no ulterior considerations, no thinking about wealth and power, the alliances between tribes and nations, the state of the empire, no concern about the difference between their peoples, between her status and his, no care that he was the prince of the great Burnt Empire and she a lowly maid. Just two bodies meeting in the night, two souls mating. The heat of passion, the fire of arousal, the mutual quenching of desire. They had been man and woman, nothing more, nothing less.

  And it had left him feeling wonderful. Like a man, a prince, a king, an emperor. And in that moment of ecstasy, Sauvali had been his woman, his princess, his queen, his empress. It did not matter that she had no title and would never have one. All that mattered was what they were to one another in those most intimate, most private moments in the darkness and privacy of her room.

  For the first time in his life, Adri felt whole, complete, desired, needed. Sauvali had needed him at that moment. She had wanted his body on hers, his mouth on her breasts, his lingam in her yoni, his seed inside herself. And he had given her what she wanted, he had aroused her, and he had satisfied her. That simple act, uncomplicated by politics, concerns of wealth, status, family ties, imperial alliances, had been so fulfilling, so satisfying; he had never realized life could have such pleasures.

  It was to preserve that feeling that he wanted to withdraw from Geldry for a while, from his marriage.

  To savor the pleasure. To enjoy this delicious state of abandonment he was in right now.

  Suddenly, none of the cares and worries that had weighed him down yesterday mattered anymore. The politics of the empire, the line of succession, Shvate’s military accomplishments, his own lack of military victories, the power imbalance between himself and his elders—the question of who really ran the empire, the never-ending pressure from Geldry on him to wield more power, make more decisions, exert more influence. Urging him to take the throne as was his birthright. The constant harping about how brilliant her brother Kune was as a political advisor, how Adri should take his advice, let the man guide his political career.

  But Adri didn�
��t even want a political career! He was content to let each person do what they did best: Shvate fight the battles, Vrath run the empire, Mother Jilana hold court. Hastinaga was powerful, wealthy, stable, at peace—or as much at peace as any great empire ever could be. There was no need to change things. Why not simply live? Enjoy the power and wealth they had been given. They were so privileged to be born in such a House, while millions starved, suffering terrible, unspeakable abuse, prejudice, disenfranchisement, and misery. Adri and Geldry had everything anyone could ever want from life already. What had they to fight for? Why not simply live and enjoy the bounty they had been given? Give thanks and blessings for the abundance?

  Sauvali, on the other hand, had almost nothing and was perfectly content with her lot. Even though they had not spoken of her circumstances, he had sensed that contentment within her. Heard it in her lack of complaint. Felt it in her ability to give herself over so completely to pleasure and the moment.

  Geldry lacked those qualities. She was constantly chasing, wanting, demanding . . . She was the kind of woman who would have everything and then one day see a neighbor with a flower she had just plucked, or a hair color that was different, or anything, the slightest thing, and she would want it too. Demand it to the point where if she did not get that thing at once, she would become adamant, defiant, mean, angry. Adri had known her to fly into rages over something some courtier had remarked about her appearance, or her garb, or a savory served at a feast, and Geldry would simmer and seethe until Adri and she returned to their chambers, then explode with suppressed rage and discontent. She would speak of killing the woman or man who had made the remark, of gouging their eyes out, cutting off their tongue, slaughtering their entire clan, reacting so disproportionately to the single critical remark that Adri often wondered if that was how she had been raised in Geldran: to wreak havoc on anyone who crossed her with even a single misspoken word. He knew Geldrans were proud and fierce to the point of instant violence when challenged, but the Geldrans he had known had also prided themselves on their self-control, discipline, and extreme courtesy. Geldry put paid to that cultural image: Adri realized that her family was the kind likely to start a feud over an unkind word, or punish the slightest offense, even one given inadvertently.