“Gurudev,” Mayla asked, sounding alarmed, “could we not have a day longer to prepare ourselves? We are not wholly . . . presentable as yet.”
Even Karni hesitantly suggested, “Perhaps we could go the day after?”
“Presentable?” Vessa frowned. “Presentable or not, my good queens, we must arrive at Hastinaga tomorrow at the very latest. Perhaps I neglected to mention this earlier, but the day after tomorrow is the coronation of Prince Adri, and if we do not arrive before it takes place, then Adri will be crowned king, and that will considerably complicate matters for everyone concerned.”
“Coronation?” Karni repeated. “No, of course, then we must arrive in time. Mayla and I will prepare ourselves as best as we can shortly and be ready to depart first thing tomorrow morning.”
Mayla looked as if she were about to argue, but Karni nudged her with her elbow and so Mayla nodded as well.
Shvate waved dismissively. “Do not fret, my queens. You can spend all the time you want preparing yourselves once we are home. You will have maids and baths, fine gowns and jewels to enhance your beauty. But what Father says is right, if we are to go anyway, then there is no point waiting even a day longer than necessary. Father, we shall be ready to accompany you tomorrow morning at sunrise!”
Vessa stood up. “Tomorrow we shall take back control of the City of Elephants and Snakes. Not for nothing is Hastinaga named after the wisest of beasts. It deserves a king capable of commanding such a majestic metropolis. I am very pleased, my son. I shall take my leave now and return tomorrow at sunrise.”
Together, they all rose to their feet.
Karni turned to glance in the direction of the hut, seeming to sense something with a mother’s instinct.
There was nothing to be seen, just the hut and the empty window. The children were all fast asleep still.
Shvate and his wives bade goodbye to the great guru, bowing to touch his feet once again.
Vessa strode away, headed toward the forest, which was only a few dozen yards from the porch and disappeared before he reached the trees.
“Guru!” came a soft excited exclamation from inside the hut.
Cobra
The beady eyes of a king cobra watched from the forest. Only a few moments had passed since Vessa had vanished from the forest hermitage.
The cobra had been watching the hut for the past several hours, unseen. Now he observed that the sage had departed the area and hissed with pleasure, his forked tongue flickering in and out of his mouth. He began to slither away sinuously, making his way over a mound, under a rock, and into the mouth of a hole. He slipped into the hole easily, winding his way down into the earth.
But instead of leading to a typical snake warren a few yards underground, the hole continued descending deeper and deeper beneath the earth. It was, of course, no ordinary snake hole, and no ordinary serpent. Cobras did not dig this far into the earth; no snake did.
After descending for several dozen yards through layers of earth and bedrock, the hole widened suddenly, expanding into a subterranean cavern. The king cobra wound his tail around a rock embedded in the side of the hole and lowered his considerable length down into the cavern, mouth first. He hung down like a shimmering black rope, over five yards long and gifted with a magnificent hood almost a foot wide when fully expanded. His black eyes gleamed in the darkness of the cavern, as he turned and twisted, seeking out the one he served.
“Master,” he hissed.
The word echoed in the darkness of the cavern. Somewhere, water dripped with the slow, timeless rhythm of a thousand-year-old phenomenon, continuing to erode the bedrock and expand the ancient cavern. This entire subterranean cavern had been created by the erosion of slowly dripping and flowing water over millennia. Sometimes, the greatest things are accomplished only through the gradual application of effort over a great quantum of time.
The cobra waited patiently, knowing his master did not appreciate impetuousness. Sometimes, it took hours or even days before he responded. The cobra’s job was to wait as long as was required. The slow but steady dripping of the water onto rock was the only thing that marked the passage of time.
On this occasion, he did not have long to wait.
Only an hour or two after the cobra had called for his master, something arrived in the cavern. It was as faint as a miasma, barely a thin mist, invisible in the darkness. Yet the cobra sensed it and woke from his doze, instantly alert. His tongue flickered as he wondered if it was his master or merely a cold wind carried by underground air currents.
The cobra hissed again. “Master, the greybeard has come and left. He returns again tomorrow at sunrise to take his son and grandchildren with him to the City of Snakes.”
A period of silence followed, as if the snake’s missive was being carried across a great distance to some other location, ported by supernatural means. Eventually the response came.
“It is no more called Nagapura, City of Snakes,” his master Jarsun said. “That name was never again spoken after your great ancestor was deposed. Once your kind roamed freely over Hastinaga in far greater numbers than the human pests who now populate the region. Soon, it shall be yours to roam freely again and the name Nagapura will sing out on the lips of the people once more.”
The cobra’s eyes glinted and his tongue hissed sibilantly, expressing the innate hatred of his species for all elephants, for he knew that Hastinaga, City of Elephants and Snakes, housed them in substantial numbers.
“You have done well to keep watch and pass on this timely message. Now you must do one more thing for me. It will require a great number of your kind working in concert to accomplish this task.”
The cobra hissed excitedly. “I am Lord of Snakes of this forest. I have an army of serpents at my command. You have only to say the word, Master.”
“It is imperative that the human named Shvate and his family be destroyed this very night, before the greybeard returns. I myself cannot set foot in this jungle because of the stonefire snare set in place by the greybeard.”
The cobra’s tongue flickered eagerly. “Say the word, and my serpents and I shall strike at them with our fangs until their bodies are black and writhing with our venom.”
“No need; my army of assassins is camped in the nearby mountain ranges, awaiting only my signal to enter the jungle and eliminate the Krushan family. But the greybeard’s stonefire spells of protection will alert the sage to our forces’ presence the instant they set foot there. That too is the reason for us meeting in this dank cavern.”
“What would you have us do, Master? We live to serve you.”
“And you shall serve. The runes the greybeard has placed encircle the hermitage of the Krushan in a very wide, large circle ranging several scores of miles. They are ancient, powerful spells woven into the trees, the leaves, the earth, the air, the grass itself.”
The cobra hissed to hear of such treachery. Priests! Their stonefire sorcery was the bane of many of his kind. They came into the deep forest, felled trees to clear spaces to build their hermitages, killing many of his species and depriving many more of their natural habitats. He longed for an opportunity to pay them back with venomous vengeance. “How may we remove the spell of protection, Master?”
“There is only one way, and it will be extremely difficult for you and your kind, but there is no alternative.”
“Anything!” hissed the cobra.
Jarsun’s voice drifted on the cold mist. “Fire.”
The cobra writhed. The very mention of the dreaded one struck terror into his cold heart. “Fire? It is our mortal enemy, Master!”
“I know how deeply your kind fears the open flame, Lord of Snakes. It has been responsible for the deaths of untold millions of your species since the beginning of life on Arthaloka. But sadly, it is our only option.”
“Master, we are snakes! How can we use fire, our most hated enemy?”
Jarsun’s voice hardened. “Because I command it. Because it is the only way. Only b
y burning that section of the forest, a complete ring of fire encircling the hermitage where the Krushan reside, can the spell of protection set by the greybeard be broken.”
“Cannot your own men do it, then?” the cobra asked, his ebony body trembling with fear at the very thought of those searing flames.
“If they could, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, fool,” Jarsun snarled, his voice echoing in the cavern. “I am tasking you and your kin with this mission. I shall guide you with my power to the circle where the greybeard has laid the spell of protection. You and your serpents must carry fire to that spot and burn it. The ring must be complete and unbroken.”
“So that the Krushan family does not escape?” asked the cobra, still trembling, but whether from fear of fire or his master, it was impossible to say.
“No, fool—once the spell of protection is burned and destroyed by the fire, I shall douse the flames at once so that my soldiers and I may enter the forest.”
“Then you too shall grace us with your presence, Master?” asked the cobra, his terror diminished in part by the possibility of receiving the Great One in person.
“Indeed. Tonight will mark the end of the Krushan family and the greybeard sage Vessa’s dream of seating his son Shvate on the Burning Throne. Do as I bid, follow my instructions to the letter, and no matter how many of your serpents sacrifice their lives to this battle tonight, know that it shall all be in service to a great cause. Go, Lord of Snakes, accomplish your duties this night, and soon, I vow, a Naga will once again sit upon the Snake Throne of Nagapura. Now go.”
The words echoed through the earth as the king cobra slithered up the hole and back toward the surface, shivering with excitement and anticipation.
Kula
Kula and Saha were the first of the Five to wake. Both opened their eyes at the same time, looked up at the darkness and then remained still, trying to sense what had woken them.
Their eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the faint glimmer of moonlight and starlight that came in through the open window. In this, they resembled the eyes of animals, which had the ability to trap and reflect even the faintest light, enabling them to see in the dark. Kula and Saha could see the room in which they slept as clearly as anyone could see it during the day. They saw the shapes of their siblings lying alongside them, all fast asleep. They saw the walls, the pot of water in the corner with the clay lid upside down on top, the doorway that led to the adjoining room of the hut where their parents slept, and the window, which faced west.
A gentle breeze wafted in through the window, carrying the usual smells of the jungle—and something unusual as well. Kula and Saha sniffed the air, then exchanged a glance. As one, they both rose and went to the casement. Saha boosted his sister over the sill and then followed her.
Outside the hut, the twins climbed down from the porch of their hut carefully, instead of jumping as they usually did. They knew their siblings’ and parents’ hearing was sharp enough to catch even the soft sound their little feet made when hitting the ground and didn’t want to wake anyone until they had checked out the situation for themselves.
They walked barefoot across the flat clearing to the forest. The moon was still low on the horizon, at a declination that did not permit much of its silver light to reach the hermitage clearing, but there was plenty of starlight, and this illuminated the twins. The forest around the clearing was shrouded in dense darkness, the thick canopy of close-growing trees barely allowing a sliver or two of starlight and moonlight to reach the ground. But to Kula and Saha, the darkness was no impediment. They could see into the jungle, and what they saw there was troubling: it was filled with the eyes of creatures watching the clearing.
There were thousands of pairs of eyes, all different sizes, shapes, belonging to different species. They were accustomed to seeing some animals at all times, their dark-adapted eyes easily spotting the creatures wherever they might be: on a tree, low on the ground, peeping from behind a rock, or standing tall. But they had never seen anything like this before. At night, when the predators came out, they might see several dozen animals at a glance, or even a hundred or two. Tonight was unusual. There were more creatures in the jungle around the clearing than they had ever seen at a time. And they were all staring at the hut where the Krushan lived.
Exchanging another glance, this a troubled one, the twins continued to walk toward the trees. They reached the edge of the forest, and without hesitation, walked into the jungle, into the forest of a thousand eyes.
Yudi
Yudi was woken by a palm gently placed on his shoulder and a soft whisper in his ear. “Yudi . . .”
He came awake at once, alert. He could just make out the shape of Kula’s face as his sister bent over him. Behind Kula, Saha was placing a hand on Arrow’s shoulder and had just started to whisper, “Arr—” when Arrow sat up, awake and instantly alert.
“Kula?” Yudi asked. He already knew something was wrong from the way Kula and Saha were waking up their siblings.
Kula glanced back at her twin brother. Saha was about to wake up Brum. Kula looked at Yudi again and jerked her head toward the window. Yudi understood: Talk outside.
Saha was still trying to wake up Brum. “Brum . . .” he whispered directly into Brum’s ear, hitting his sleeping sister on the shoulder with the side of his hand to avoid making any sound. Brum continued sleeping. Saha looked at his siblings and made a helpless gesture.
Kula kicked Brum’s foot lightly. Nothing.
Arrow bent down and pinched Brum’s arm.
Kula and Saha both put their mouths to Brum’s ears and whispered urgently, “Brum!”
Through it all, Brum continued sleeping.
All three of them turned and looked at their eldest sibling.
Yudi went over to his sleeping sister. He bent down and put his palm on Brum’s chest firmly and whispered over Brum’s face, “Brum.”
Brum opened her eyes and grasped Yudi’s hand. “Yudi? Safe?”
Yudi put his finger on his lips, making a shush gesture.
Brum glanced around, saw her other siblings awake, and nodded her head vigorously to show she understood.
Yudi gestured toward the window.
All five of them climbed out the window and left the hut.
As they walked across the clearing, Arrow leading the group as always, Kula and Saha explained the danger. “Fire,” they whispered.
Yudi nodded. He could smell the smoke—they all could. They could also see in the distance, just becoming visible now, a faint reddish glow that could be nothing else. He guessed that it was what their parents would call a “day’s walk” from the hermitage, but for fire itself, that distance meant nothing. It could be here in the hermitage within the hour, if the wind blew this way. He knew this instinctively, even though he had never actually seen a forest fire or been told about them. He had seen a fire up close and knew it could kill and destroy everything it touched. The thought of that destructive energy consuming his family’s house and the houses of the other priests of the hermitage was not a happy one. His little face set itself in a grim expression as he listened to what the twins had to say.
He looked at the jungle. Not having their ability to see in the dark, he could only make out the dense jungle and the general outlines of the trees, with some upper foliage tinged by starlight. But as they grew closer to the jungle itself, he began to make out the gleaming silvery eyes of animals in the darkness. He did not slow his step, but he felt somewhat troubled by the sight of so many pairs of eyes. It was not normal to see so many, and anything not normal was to be treated with suspicion, his instincts warned him.
Brum must have also sensed the same thing because her stocky little shape stopped at once. Her fists rose up. “Animals! Brum fight animals!”
Kula touched her shoulder, reassuring her. “Friends,” Kula said. “No hurt.”
Brum reluctantly lowered her fists.
They entered the canopy of trees and were surrounde
d by the jungle.
As Yudi’s eyes adapted to the darkness, he began to make out the faint outlines of creatures all around. There were more than he had ever seen before, predators and prey alike, all gathered together, none showing any aggression toward each other. He could smell them too, their fur and sweat and urine and excrement.
Brum wrinkled her nose, rubbing it hard to try to get rid of the stink. “Ugh. Smell!” Brum said.
“Why animals here?” Yudi asked Kula.
“Fire make animals run,” Kula said. “Fire all around. Big circle.” She gestured with her hands. “Animals come here. To Krushan. Ask for help.”
“From us?” Yudi asked, incredulous. “How we help animals?”
“Fight!” Brum said, rubbing her hands together. “Brum fight fire!”
“Fire burn Brum,” Arrow said scornfully.
Brum glared at Arrow. “Brum fight fire.”
“Can’t fight fire,” Yudi said. He looked around at all the animals. He could see them now, looking at him, their large soulful eyes, their snouts, their furry faces, their lowered tails. “Krushan can’t fight fire.”
“Not fire,” Kula said. “Soldiers. Bad soldiers come. Kill Krushan. Kill father, mothers.”
Yudi caught his breath. “Where?”
Kula made the same circling gesture again. “Everywhere. Coming fast. Many bad soldiers.”
Brum slapped her own chest. “Brum. Fight. Soldiers.”
For once, nobody corrected her.
Brum looked around at her siblings, surprised. “Brum! Fight! Soldiers!” she repeated, waiting to be corrected.
Arrow’s dark eyes gleamed. “Arrow fight soldiers.”
Kula and Saha said together, “Kula-Saha fight soldiers.”
Yudi nodded grimly. “Krushan fight soldiers. Protect father, mothers, hermitage.”
Upon a Burning Throne Page 67