Mother Jilana did not have to convince him of this, at least. If Adri had had his way, he would not have done anything. He was content to simply pine and waste away to nothing. Life felt pointless without Sauvali. He did not want to go back to Geldry. He did not want to get out of bed, to bathe, to dress, to leave his chambers. But if he was to do so, then he agreed that he ought to start with his wife’s bedchamber. It was the right thing to do, and Adri had been brought up to do the right thing, even if others did not always do the same.
“Geldry,” he said now, stopping just inside the door. He had no wish to stumble over furniture. “It is I.”
He was met by silence at first. He knew she was in the chamber. He had distinctly heard the sound of something heavy and metallic falling and rolling on the floor only moments before he entered. And the maids and sentries had all reacted to his approach and begun whispering to each other that he had come to visit the princess, so he knew she was here.
“Husband,” she replied finally. “It is good to see you.”
He turned toward the sound of her voice. She sounded as if she was sitting down. He noted her choice of words. Was it literal or merely figurative? In the beginning of their marriage, he would have simply walked over to her and touched her head and face, feeling the soft cloth of the eyeband wound tightly and the surge of pleasure that came from knowing she still wore it. It had come to symbolize her love for him, her loyalty. Skeptical at first, he had come to feel pleased by its constant presence.
Now he no longer felt he was entitled to touch her, let alone expect her to be wearing it. Perhaps she was, perhaps she wasn’t. What difference did it make anyway? Perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. But he could not do it: it would seem too petty, too insecure of him.
“And you,” he responded, throwing her own contradiction back at her with a dollop of irony added. “Are you well?”
“As well as can be expected,” she shot back with scarcely a pause. From long experience, he knew that when she was angry with him, she spoke in this rapid-response manner, throwing words like darts at him faster than he could catch them. She was angry now, which was not surprising. He had expected that. She had every right to be angry.
“I have been neglectful of my husbandly duties,” he said. “I should have visited you sooner.”
“Visited . . .” she replied, leaving the word hanging there without comment, which itself was a comment. “Yes, husbands should visit their wives from time to time. So we don’t forget each other’s faces.”
Again, a barb directed at his infirmity. The first time he had been unsure; this time he was certain. She was deliberately reminding him that he was blind and she was not. So be it. She was entitled to her barbs and darts, her petty show of insouciance.
“I was given the news of your birthing our sons and daughter. It is a proud day for us as parents, and for our kingdom.”
“Indeed.”
“I trust your recovery is going well.”
“Quite.”
“Is there anything you require? Anything at all that can comfort you and ease your recovery?”
“If I require anything, I shall ask for it. Thank you.”
“Is there anything I can do personally to assist?”
Silence for a moment, then: “I seem to have dropped one of my bracelets. It is fallen over by your foot. Could you pick it up and hand it to me?”
He stiffened. He had not expected this.
She had made it clear that she was not binding her eyes anymore. Or had she? How else could she have known that the bracelet was by his foot? By the sound? Well, possibly, after all, he too could tell where something had fallen by the sound. But even if she had detected its location by sound and was still wearing the eyeband, her asking him to pick it up was still a slap in the face. That was something one asked a maid to do. Not a husband, a prince, a king, an emperor. Just as he would never have asked her to pick up something for him, she too ought not to have made such a request.
But she had.
And now that she had made the request, he had only two choices: to refuse outright, which would seem churlish of him. Or to do it as gracefully as possible, which was not easy.
“Of course,” he said, trying to make his voice seem casual, unaffected. “Which foot?”
“The right foot,” she said, then added coyly, “I think.”
So she was still pretending that she had the eyeband on. Perhaps she did, at that. Very well. He bent down slowly, crouched, and felt around his right foot. The marble floor felt cold to his touch. He had been feeling a little feverish after the bath. His head throbbed too. He had drunk a great deal of wine over a great many days. It did not help his balance or sense of hearing.
His fingers found nothing except the cold marble floor.
“It does not appear to be here,” he said, still trying to sound casual, but hearing the tone of accusation and a slight touch of anger in his own voice.
“Oh,” she said, with careless ease. “Perhaps the left foot, then.”
He felt around his left foot, with the same results. “Not here either. You were mistaken, my dear. It does not appear to be here.”
He stood up and felt his head reel. He staggered slightly and was forced to take a step sideways to stabilize himself. His left foot came down on something hard and encrusted with sharp pointy stones. Not sharp enough to cut skin, but sharp enough that they hurt when stepped on. He swore and lifted his foot to step aside again.
“Are you well, husband dearest?” she asked in that singsong voice she used when being ironic or truly cruel.
He swallowed a retort that he knew he would have regretted later. Not regretted saying, but having given her the satisfaction of knowing she had made him lose his self-control. He bent down again, even though his head throbbed and his senses swam, and picked up the errant bracelet. It felt more like a very large bangle, something heavy and studded with gemstones.
“I found your bracelet, dearest,” he said.
He walked over to where she was seated, hoping that there were no impediments in his path. He arrived without any further mishap. He could hear her soft breathing.
He held out the bangle. “Your jewelry.”
She snatched it from his hand so forcefully, he felt the bangle scrape his knuckle. She set it down hard on some glass surface. “Thank you.”
He smiled to himself. “Shall we visit the children together, good wife?”
He distinctly heard her inhale and exhale more than once, as if trying to regain control. He heard her gesture as well—the whisper of her robe against her bare skin was a familiar sound to him, even though it had been so long since he had heard it—but could not make sense of the movement. When she did it again, he felt a chill encase his heart.
There was someone else in the room.
He listened carefully, his senses attuned now. But his throbbing head and the other aftereffects of the wine had impaired his ability to “see” accurately. He could not be certain of it, but he thought perhaps—just perhaps—there was a sound from near the verandah that could have been a foot scuffing the marble floor.
“Wife?” he asked, hearing the tremor in his voice.
“Yes,” she replied shortly, “Yes, of course. Pray allow me a moment to attire myself suitably.”
He heard the familiar sounds of her dressing. The sound of her arms and limbs moving against silk, the sound of her shoe scuffing the floor. It must have been those sounds you heard, the sounds of her dressing.
But he knew his first instinct had been correct. There was someone else in the room. Yet he could think of no way to find out for certain without inquiring on the matter directly. And he had no wish to do so.
Instead, he waited silently and patiently, until his wife came toward him and took his arm, just as she always had in the past, and spoke softly in his ear, as she used to. “Shall we?”
Vessa
1
Vessa roared with fury as he emerged from the portal. Be
hind him lay a strange alien world of islands upon an ocean of lava. The ocean blazed and flared with explosions, sending geysers of steaming lava thousands of yards into the air. The island he was leaving was little more than a heap of slag on the volcanic ocean. The heat was so tremendous that the part of the forest into which he emerged in our world was completely seared in moments: the trees burst into flame, the grass turned to ash, and the blast of hot air killed every living thing for a hundred yards in every direction.
Yet somehow, his hair, beard, long flowing red-ochre robes, wooden shoes, and wildwood staff remained unburned and whole. He roared with frustration and fury, giving vent to the anger he felt from yet another failed attempt at chasing down his quarry. It had been years now since he began pursuing the self-declared God-Emperor of Reygistan, and each time he came within grabbing distance of the urrkh, Jarsun somehow managed to slip out of his grasp. This time, the Reygistani had led him on a merry dance across hundreds of parallel universes, from icebound moons to glass mountaintops so tall that their peaks extended into airless space, to the dark bottoms of dense oceans where no light had ever penetrated and gigantic monstrous creatures ruled through brutal domination, to chemical swamps where strange creatures spat poisonous venom at each other in an endless ritual feud, to lands where the sun was deep red and the people slithered on fins on perpetually wet land under year-round monsoon skies, and finally, after dozens of near encounters and at least one sorcerous skirmish, to the volcanic ocean world from which he had just come.
He uttered a stream of curses that would have turned any mage’s ears red, striding through the blazing forest. As a burning tree fell with a crackling impact, he grew aware of the damage caused by his arrival and raised his staff again, uttering a mantra that brought down a sudden rain shower. As the cool downpour doused the fire and prevented it from spreading further, his temper cooled too. One does not become a seer-mage if one is unable to curb one’s emotions, and it was rare enough for Vessa to lose his temper, but the past years had tested his patience to the limit.
Jarsun had to be stopped. The demonlord had inflicted much damage on the Krushan already, and his insidious influence was taking a toll on Vessa’s own biological children, Shvate, Adri, and Vida, as well as his mother, Jilana, and the rest of the imperial family of Hastinaga. Vessa had made it his mission to stop the Reygistani and slay him before he inflicted further harm, but thus far his attempts had been unsuccessful. Failure was not something the seer-mage was accustomed to experiencing, and he did not take it well.
He gestured again, shutting off the rain to avoid overhydrating this section of the forest, and continued walking. His tall, lanky form, long robes, and great strides made it appear as if he was floating across the forest floor. Animals and insects that marked his passing watched with tense anticipation. His power was palpable, his anger still not entirely doused. Only once he passed by did the birds resume their twittering, did the leaves breathe again, did the insects and animals move about their daily business of foraging, eating, mating. This was one of the world’s most ancient forests, its high canopy dense enough in some places that only a few rays of sunlight could pass through to reach the forest floor. Strange exotic species grew and flourished here that were not to be found anywhere else in the Burnt Empire—or anywhere else in this world. Vessa walked through dense green parts where no human had ever set foot before, but he was too engrossed in his contemplation to take notice of all the wonders of the natural world. It was the unnatural doings of his enemy that occupied him.
Hastinaga was not the only kingdom plagued by the demonlord’s evil attacks. All lands and people that adored Krushan were equally under threat. Jarsun was no ordinary villain seeking to amass power, wealth, land by any means; he was an urrkh, the most powerful of demon species, reborn in this age to try to end Krushan itself. His minions were legion, his works unspeakable in their horror and violence, his misdeeds legendary. He had built an empire of evil, corrupting the name of the ancient Reygistani Empire and making it feared and hated by decent people everywhere. He commanded great armies of mortal soldiers who were in fact demons reborn in human form. If he were to invade Hastinaga, he would wreak devastation on a vast scale, as he had already done to many inner kingdoms of the continent.
The only reason he was not invading was because his main attention was focused on another city-nation that was giving him great resistance: Mraashk, capital of the Yadu nation. Jarsun’s plans for Mraashk and the Yadu people had been staunchly opposed first by the Yadu king Suvaa and his allies, and now by Suvaa’s son Avasi.
No ordinary mortal, Avasi was nothing less than a full reincarnation of the great god Vish, the Protector of Worlds, God Himself, descended from the heavenly realms to rid the world of the last of the urrkh. His struggle was ongoing, as Jarsun’s seemingly infinite resources of power continued to inflict great loss of life and dignity on the suffering people of Mraashk. But on the other hand, the fierce resistance of Avasi and his half brother in Mraashk kept Jarsun from unleashing his full malice on Hastinaga.
Vessa grew impatient with mere physical walking and transported himself in the blink of an eye—and the utterance of a single mantra—a dozen yojanas away to a point closer to his destination. He disappeared from one place and appeared in the other without breaking his stride. His appearance startled a bustle of hedgehogs who scurried into their holes in panic.
He raised his head, sending out his aura to study the region, in the event, however unlikely, that there might be any trace of urrkh maya here. He found none. That was a relief. He had uttered powerful mantras, performed an ancient fire sacrifice, and created a circle of protection around a wide swath of forest, all to ensure that his wards were unharmed by mortal or urrkh attackers. The stonefire spells he had woven were designed to confuse any who approached with ill intentions: the attackers would simply go around the circle of power and return to the same spot while believing that they were traveling forward. Even if Jarsun or his minions did succeed in making ingress, Vessa would be alerted at once, no matter where he might be at the time.
Despite all these precautions, he still breathed a great sigh of relief as he saw the clearing ahead, and the silhouettes of priests and acolytes going about their business as usual. A doe and her mother feeding nearby looked up to show him mouthfuls of green leaves, unafraid by his presence because they were accustomed to humans and had learned no reason to fear them as yet. An owl on a branch turned its articulate neck a full half circle as it watched him stride away. Other animals of the woods watched his passage without concern.
Vessa emerged into the clearing, slowing his stride to a brisk walk.
The acolytes and priests all reacted to his arrival.
Cries of “Great Guru!” were heard from the oldest greybeards to the youngest acolytes, all bowing low and greeting the sage with full respect. Admiring eyes watched him as he passed by, hand raised and palm blessing them all.
“Live long and flourish,” he said by way of benediction.
The simple blessing was enough to inspire every single one of the young acolytes to dedicate their lives to spreading the word of knowledge and helping dispel the darkness of ignorance. These were all his students, for they followed his system of compiling the sacred Krushan scriptures, a mammoth task that had engaged Vessa for much of his lifetime.
But today his presence here had nothing to do with the dissemination of knowledge or the awakening of young minds. He was here to ensure that his family was safe and that they would remain so.
He walked toward the last hut at the very end of the hermitage, located about a hundred yards beyond the main hermitage to afford its residents the privacy that a domestic household required. The hut had been expanded recently by the acolytes and priests, enlarged to accommodate the increase in the family’s size. The original hut had been sufficient for three persons, but now there were five more. The hut still did not seem large enough to accommodate eight persons, especially persons accustomed t
o regal chambers and palaces. But these eight people had chosen to live here as simply as the other spiritual residents of the hermitage and eschewed all luxuries, comforts, and royal possessions. Vessa was pleased to see the state of cleanliness of the hut and its environs; he could see that the sweeping and cleaning had been done by small hands, for the brushstrokes of the thrash brooms were still faintly visible on the open front yard of the hut and the arcs were too tiny to have been made by adults. That told him that his grandchildren were dutiful and did their chores diligently, which pleased him. Those children were hard enough to raise without their getting any airs about being princes and princesses. Life was hard, and their lives were going to be harder than most; it was best if they accepted their lot and worked without complaint. Starting them young on such chores was the best way to get them used to the litany of hardships that lay ahead.
Vessa stopped in the middle of the front courtyard, looking around and taking stock.
All appeared to be in order. There was no sense of threat from human, urrkh, or any other presence. The jungle was safe and normal for a hundred miles in every direction. He expanded his range to a hundred and fifty miles, two hundred, and still found no sign of human movement or presence. Good. That was as it should be.
He decided it was time to announce his presence.
He raised his staff and was about to speak when suddenly, from above his head, a small shape descended with dazzling speed. At the same time, several more opponents appeared around him, aiming their weapons.
He was under attack.
2
“Halt!”
The courtyard of the little hut rang out with the sharp cry. A single word, yelled by five separate throats: “Stop!”
Vessa stood still, not moving a muscle.
He sensed five attackers, surrounding him on four sides, with one directly above, suspended from the branch of a tree. They were all armed, their weapons aimed at his vital organs, except for the one who was in front of him. This one was unarmed, but her stance and aggressive eye contact suggested that she was capable of inflicting as much damage with her bare hands as any weapon.
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