Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  She watched him sleep for a moment, overcome by a sudden surge of emotion. Perhaps she should let him sleep, leave him be, as he desired. The poor boy had been born sightless, into a dark and dangerous world surrounded by enemies on all sides, a mother who would not even nurse him, embrace him, or comfort him when he cried, people who either pitied him for his blindness or sought to befriend him because of his position in the imperial hierarchy.

  What must it have been to have grown up as Adri? She couldn’t imagine. She had enjoyed a wonderful childhood and youth, full of energy and vigor; was treated no differently from her brothers and other men of her tribe; had gone wherever and done whatever she pleased, a high-energy lifestyle marked with much athletic play and activity. She couldn’t imagine not being able to run, play, jump, or sport simply because of one’s inability to see. This, apart from the other obvious sadness of being forever unable to witness a beautiful sunset over the Jeel, where the sun in late summer seemed to almost bow down to touch his forehead to the feet of the river goddess. To lack color, vividity, beauty, aesthetic pleasure completely . . . . Jilana was never one for art or snobbish pursuits, even now in a palace surrounded by thousands of the most exquisite works of art of this age, most of which she barely spared a glance, but she could afford to have such a careless attitude, because if she ever had the slightest whim, she could take a moment, or an hour, to stop and admire the grace of a sculpted dancer or the colors and detail of a great mural—but to never be able to see anything at all?

  “You poor boy,” she said softly, mainly to herself.

  She picked up the fallen silk sheet and spread it over her grandson’s nakedness. She had decided to wait until he woke on his own rather than disturb him. She found a stool set back against a wall—all the furniture in these chambers was placed against the wall, to avoid it encumbering Adri when he moved around—and sat down upon it, looking at the sad detritus of several meals and a toppled jug of wine which had dribbled out a large brown stain onto the richly embroidered rug.

  How had it come to this? To the crown prince of Krushan passed out dead drunk in his chambers only days before his own ascension?

  Jilana wished then that she had intervened from the outset, taken a hand in his upbringing, even become a surrogate mother to him once she realized that her daughter-in-law had washed her hands completely of the responsibility. The only reason she had not done so was because she felt it would set a bad example. Both her daughters-in-law had sons; both needed to take their maternal responsibilities seriously. Jeel knew she had tried time and time again to drill that into their heads: through frequent arguments or tirades, even threatening them with disinheritance and exile. Nothing had worked.

  The princesses Ember and Umber were daughters of Serapi; Vrath had abducted them by force from their own swayamvaras to bring them here as brides for Jilana’s sons Gada and Virya. If she were to disown them or exile them, they would simply go back home to their father’s house, and their powerful father and all his allies would instantly turn against the House of Krushan. The presence of the princesses here was the only thing that had kept Serapi and its allies on Hastinaga’s side till now, despite their deep resentment of the manner in which the princesses had been abducted against their will. The suicide of the third sister, Princess Amber, after she was abandoned by Vrath and spurned by her own former fiancée Prince Shalya, had deepened the old wound. Shalya was now King Shalya and a powerful force in his own right, and he had sworn lifelong vengeance against the House of Krushan for that transgression. And were Jilana to have made good on her threats and turned out her daughters-in-law, Shalya would be the first in line, leading the rebellion against Hastinaga.

  And he would be in the right, and she in the wrong. Whatever their failings, Princesses Ember and Umber could not genuinely be blamed for their lapses. They had been forcibly abducted and made to marry the Krushan princes. Then, when their husbands had died, they had been told to expect a nighttime visit from Jilana’s son Vessa, who would be impregnating them in order to create heirs for the House of Krushan. It could be argued that they considered themselves raped and impregnated against their will. There were some who had said so openly, though of course never in the presence of Jilana or Vrath.

  But it had been said, and there was some truth in it. Vrath had heard about it and had wanted to declare in court that any persons who had made such comments would be thrown into the dungeons, but she had dissuaded him. It was a short, slippery slope from muzzling free speech to a dictatorship; Vrath, perhaps, would not have any significant objection to running such a government, but as a young girl, Jilana had seen too many ordinary people victimized by the abuse of power to sanction such a regime herself. That was the reason she had ultimately let her daughters-in-law go about their lives when all her threats and rants went unheeded. What good would it to do punish them, except create more controversy and political upheaval?

  I should have stepped in at that time and taken up the job of caring for both the boys myself. I should have done it while they were still young enough to be molded.

  But that was when something unexpected had happened: Shvate and Adri had bonded. The two brothers had found one another and forged a brotherhood based more on identification than on blood. They had several things in common: birth infirmities, the scorn and humiliation heaped upon them for being different, the inability to easily do many of the things other children their age did every day, the painful neglect and failure of their own mothers to be there when they were needed most . . . plus the incessant pressure of their gurus, teachers, and elders to live up to the Krushan name. Not to mention the rigorous training and education they received as Krushan princes, and the usual problems and pains any child has growing up.

  She had watched this brotherhood develop and grow, to the point where she was astonished by how much potential these two boys had. Her father, the fisherman, had always told her that the strongest fish were those that faced the toughest odds. Salmon—he was always talking about salmon with such admiration. Swimming upstream while pregnant, all the way from the estuary to the high mountains, to lay their eggs. She had thought then that perhaps Adri and Shvate were like salmon in reverse: babes who had to swim upriver in order to find their true strength.

  Jilana had decided to watch and wait a while longer before intervening. And then, when she had thought to insert herself into their daily lives, it was too late: Vrath carted them off to gurukul to receive intensive training in the business of kingship. And they were not quite done with their studies, still barely out of boyhood, when the Battle of the Rebels had demanded their presence.

  The Children of Midnight, she used to call them, because both were born at the midnight hour. Doomed to a long, dark night ahead. In Adri’s case, that had been literally true. She had seen how badly the Battle of the Rebels had shaken him. His performance was stellar: she had personally witnessed his and Shvate’s extraordinary fight against impossible odds during that chariot maneuver. But that was also the day that the brothers had started to drift apart. Shvate had thrived and flourished as a warrior—and found his calling. While Adri had distinguished himself in battle, he had also realized he’d had enough of warfare to last a lifetime. She suspected his decline had begun then.

  When Shvate took his first wife, Karni, Adri lost his brother forever. No more did Jilana see the two brothers walking, eating, laughing, playing, practicing together, in fact she rarely saw them together at all except at official functions, and even then they barely spent any time in each other’s company. She watched her blind grandson sleeping and thought of how the past year or two had brought even more sorrow and loss: Shvate in self-exile, his lover Sauvali abducted. She couldn’t imagine how much pain and anguish he must have in his heart. She felt deeply sorry for him. But whatever had happened in the past did not change where they were today, here and now.

  Adri stirred.

  He moaned and reached up to his head with the typical gesture of a heavy wine d
rinker. Her late husband, Sha’ant, had been fond of wine too. The age difference between herself and Sha’ant had meant that she was able to shake off the morning hangovers and get on with her day while he often needed to sleep in to recover. As he had aged, she had tapered off her own drinking, then begun discouraging him from drinking as much. It had worked, mostly; from time to time he had overindulged and always paid the price. On those mornings, he had always begun by holding his head in just that way. Even though she knew that Adri was not a direct blood descendant of Sha’ant, she felt a tremor of emotion at the gesture.

  She rose from the stool and stood.

  “Rise,” she said in a quiet but firm voice.

  2

  Adri turned his head so that his left ear was in Jilana’s direction. “Sauvali?” The uncertainty and emotion in his voice was heart-breaking.

  Stay firm, Jilana. Remember why you are here. “It is I, your grandmother.”

  Adri reached down to the sheet, checking if his modesty was covered. “Grandmother, why are you here unannounced? I am not properly attired to receive you!”

  “I was properly announced when I arrived hours ago. It is you who seem to be improperly attired for your duties. Is this the usual hour at which you are accustomed to rising, Adri?”

  “I . . . am unwell.”

  “I suspect a malady of excess, nothing more.”

  “I may have drunk a little wine last night.”

  “Last night? From what I hear, it has been a very long night for you, Adri. One lasting several months!”

  “Things have been difficult since . . . It’s been difficult.”

  “Difficult or not, grandson, you are the crown prince of Hastinaga. You have responsibilities and duties. I learned today that you have not been to see your own newborn children nor their mother. Why is that?”

  Adri did not answer her. He had risen to a seated position, the sheets gathered around his midriff. His head hung down, hair falling over his face, partially obscuring his unseeing eyes.

  “Rise at once. Bathe and attire yourself. Visit your wife and newborn children and pay them your due respects. It is a proud day for the House of Krushan. You have fathered the future heirs of our great lineage. You must hold your head up high, be seen by the people, celebrate, feast. Not skulk alone in your chambers, drinking yourself to bed each night and lying abed all day.”

  Adri raised his head, turning it toward her again. “I have no desire to do these things. I have no desire to do anything. I do not even wish to live.”

  “Enough. No prince of Krushan will speak like that. Get hold of yourself. Bathe and dress. The city awaits, the people gather outside, the empire watches.”

  Bitterly, he said, “What do I care about the city, the people, the empire? The only person I cared about was taken from me. My life is meaningless.”

  She stared at him, lips pursed tightly.

  She leaned over the bed and stretched out her arm. She administered a sharp quick slap to his cheek, just hard enough that it shocked him, nothing more. The sound was loud in the empty chambers. Adri recoiled. She knew that for all that he had borne in his life, corporal punishment was never among the litany he had suffered.

  “Enough!” Her words and tone were as sharp as the slap. “There will be no more of such talk. You are a prince of Krushan, crown prince of the empire. You are to be anointed in days. You will rise and assume your role in the House of Krushan and administer to your duties. I will not hear another word about your complaints and your troubles. Do you understand me?”

  He sat holding the sheets with one hand, his own cheek with the other, staring unblinkingly at the bright verandah behind her. “Shvate has a son.”

  “What did you say?”

  “We received word just before Geldry delivered. That was why she struck herself to hasten the birth. A hermit from the jungle brought the news that Shvate and his wives had produced a son.”

  “Yes, I am aware of this news. They have produced five children in all. What of it?”

  “The eldest child was born before Geldry’s children.”

  She observed the fact that he referred to his own children as “Geldry’s” but chose to refrain from commenting just yet. “And so?”

  “So Shvate’s firstborn is the eldest heir. By Krushan law, that makes that child the heir to the Krushan throne, not Geldry’s firstborn.”

  She folded her hands across her chest. There would be no more need for slapping: she could handle this with logic and words. “Shvate abdicated the throne to you and went into self-exile. You will be crowned samrat days from now. Your children will be the heirs to the throne, not Shvate’s. The line runs from father to son. It doesn’t jump to a nephew unless you have no more sons. As it so happens, you have one hundred and one heirs, so there is little chance of that possibility.”

  “I do not wish to ascend.”

  She unfolded her arms. Perhaps there would be need for another slap after all. “What did you just say?”

  “I have no desire to rule. I have no wish to sit on the throne.”

  “I see. And what would you have us do?”

  “Call Shvate back from exile. He only abdicated because of the rishi’s curse. Now that he has fathered an heir, he can reassume his place in the lineage, ascend the throne. He is much better suited and more fit to rule than I. He is also the eldest, which means he is the legal heir by Krushan law. And after him, his eldest child can inherit once he or she is of age.”

  Jilana’s palm itched, but she resisted the impulse. Slapping her blind grandson was not one of her prouder moments; she justified it by blaming herself for having failed to take a role in Adri’s upbringing years earlier. But to repeat the act would be cruelty. He’s only feeling sorry for himself, as men do at such times. He just needs to be talked out of it.

  “Shvate abdicated. He named you. It was legally done and witnessed by all relevant parties, including myself. You were announced as the crown prince. Your ascension is scheduled, your wife has produced heirs—one hundred and one of them! There is no question of rolling back these events to cater to your self-pity. These are your responsibilities under Krushan law. You cannot simply wish them away because you are mourning a dead lover.”

  “She was my wife!” Adri cried, with startling vehemence. He lowered his voice. “Forgive my tone, Grandmother, I mean no disrespect. I am not saying these things because of Sauvali’s . . . abduction. I was going to abdicate in any case. I have no stomach for politics. I simply wish to live my life in peace and quiet.”

  She took this in silently, but she was already shaking her head before he finished speaking, even though he could not see her. “Stomach or no, you were born into politics. That is your legacy, your heritage. It is your Krushan law to accept your responsibilities. Assume the throne. Embrace your wife. Raise your children. These are your given tasks. Accept them without protest or complaint.”

  “Like my mother accepted hers?” he asked, in such a hurt voice that it pierced her heart.

  She was struck dumb. For a moment, she felt his pain, shared his deep, dark vision of the world, saw the bleak, unrelenting prospect of the years ahead, married to a wife who loved power and wealth far more than she loved him—if she loved him at all—living in the same palace as the mother whose loving touch he had never experienced even once in his life, abandoned by a brother who had once been his greatest protector and ally, grieving for the one woman he had truly loved and cherished, grieving for the unborn child he would never hold in his arms while being forced to father 101 children, ascend a throne he cared nothing for, make himself the target of every ruthless warlord in the world, only because it was Krushan law. She understood his bitterness, felt his pain, identified with his disgust at the political life and its endless compromises.

  But she was Queen Mother, the widow of Sha’ant. The future of the House of Krushan lay in her hands, and her role demanded strength, not sympathy. She had to stay strong. Had Adri’s mother done her job, she
would have been the hard one here, while Jilana could have played the doting, indulgent grandmother. But there was only she, and she could not afford to let him feel, even for an instant, that this weakness was permissible.

  “Just because she did not fulfill her Krushan law does not justify you failing to fulfill yours.”

  Adri was the silent one now.

  After a long pause, he said finally, with resignation, “Kindly wait outside while I prepare myself.”

  Then, with a tone of rancor, he added, “Just because I can’t see you, doesn’t mean I give you the right to see me. In future, if you wish to see me, Grandmother, I suggest you send for me in the proper manner. Do not simply walk into my private chambers.”

  Jilana departed without further comment. Her cheeks burned at his last words. She knew that she had hurt him by not showing more sympathy, or even empathy. But she had accomplished what she had sought to do. Those last comments of his had contained enough anger in them to satisfy her. Anger was heat. Heat kept one alive and moving forward. She would make a king of Adri yet.

  Whatever it took.

  Vida

  Vida entered Vrath’s chambers cautiously. There were no sentries posted at the doors, and the doors themselves lay wide open. It was the first time he had actually entered the prince regent’s private chambers, and at first, he thought he had made some mistake, this could not possibly be where Vrath lived.

  The chambers were in the center of the palace complex, surrounded by a mass of architecture—buildings, stables, compounds, hundreds of other chambers, quarters, offices, hallways. But when Vida walked in, he found himself in a vast open space. Above him was the sky, bright clear blue, filled with a variety of clouds of different shapes and forms at different heights. There was green grass underfoot and trees on both sides, where he would have expected there to be walls, and ahead was the riverbank, sloping down genially to the great Jeel herself. Vida stopped and looked over his shoulder at the entranceway he had come through. He took several steps till he could see the pillars just inside the open doors through which he had entered. Beyond those pillars was a long hallway leading back to the entrance of the building itself. It was inconceivable that there would be open fields, forest, grass, and the river here, in the heart of the Hastinaga palace complex. Impossible.