by Неизвестный
“You shall be paid handsomely,” Adhrit said. Sankara had full coffers. Coffers that Alexander would plunder.
“Ah, good,” Ekaaksh said. “Then I need you to obtain some things for me. Some I can procure myself but others . . . ”
“Like what?”
“A goat, for one. And wine, the purer the better. Rice, I have. And you must meet me tomorrow night by the river. In the cemetery.”
“Why there?” Adhrit asked.
Ekaaksh shook his head. He licked cracked lips. “You’ll see.”
Adhrit was haunted that night by dreams of Ekaaksh. The sorcerer chanted, naked and smeared with filth, while Ramyasthana’s people washed away in a flood of murky water that seemed born of tears. Or blood. When he woke in the night his entire body was wet with perspiration. He walked outside to feel the faint breeze on his skin and looked out into the jungle. Somewhere out there, not too far away, was Alexander’s army. How much time did they have?
The next day, Adhrit set about fetching the items that Ekaaksh had requested. Ramyasthana was a city in fear. As he visited merchants, bearing his brother’s wealth, they demonstrated this, taking his payment with shaking hands. The wine merchant talked about fleeing, running into the jungle, making for the nearest city with his best stock. The fishmonger easily handed over his freshest catch. “Better you take it than the invader,” he said. “It’s the last I’ll take from the river before he comes.”
Sankara’s goatherd handed over one of his best with wet eyes. “I fear they will be slaughtered,” he said. “Perhaps it would be best if I did it first. Humanely.”
“Courage,” Adhrit said, placing a hand on the man’s arm. But the word sounded empty.
As he walked the path leading out of the city, Adhrit ran into two of the priests from the temple. Their mouths were covered, but he saw their eyes travel from his face, down to his feet and the goat. “Adhrit,” one of them said. “You were not at the temple today.”
Adhrit flushed and looked down. “I have errands to complete for my brother.” He gave them each a quick nod, then hurried away, pulling the goat a little too hard, perhaps, in his haste. He journeyed straight for the cemetery.
The cemetery stood on the other side of the Vipasa river, the running water providing a barrier between the living and the dead. Their grandfather had believed in burying the dead in the ground, returning the bodies to the cycle of life, for worms and insects and other creatures to devour. Adhrit, who had once preferred cremation, had come to appreciate that. He would visit Taata’s grave often to think, to talk. Daylight made the cemetery peaceful.
But night . . . standing there, alone (except for the goat, thankfully silent), Adhrit felt uneasy. Vulnerable, as if his buried kin suspected that his transformation, his walking the right path, had been a deceit, and he was still a foolish young man of many hungers seeking excess.
His taata had been reincarnated into another form, he knew, but Adhrit still worried that some part of the man remained under the earth.
“Ah,” called the voice of Ekaaksh. “You’re here. And with the goat.”
“My brother’s goatherd claimed it was the best of his flock.”
Ekaaksh shrugged and tugged on a rope that connected to a young girl.
Adhrit trembled with anger. His hand neared the hilt of his sword. “You said nothing about a girl.”
Ekaaksh’s eyes went to Adhrit’s hand, then to the girl, then back to Adhrit. “Did you think I was going to sacrifice this young thing?” He chuckled. “I am not a monster.”
Adhrit relaxed a little.
“I will be sacrificing the goat, though,” Ekaaksh said.
Adhrit winced. He had been expecting it—his beliefs held that all life was sacred. And as an adherent of ahimsa he had devoted himself to doing violence to no creature. But as Sankara had said, violence was acceptable if used in self-defense. And wasn’t this what he was doing?
Ekaaksh set out a bundle of cloth and unrolled it to reveal a number of metal and stone implements, including a wicked knife. Eyes down, silent, the girl knelt at his side.
“Then what is the girl for?” Adhrit asked.
“The ritual,” Ekaaksh said without looking up from his tools.
“She will help you with it?”
“Oh yes. Her participation is vital.”
“Look at me,” Adhrit said. When Ekaaksh didn’t, he said it louder. “Look at me.”
Ekaaksh raised his head.
“I want a demonstration. Before you waste my time, and my brother’s goat, I want you to show me what it is you’re giving us. Can you do that?”
Ekaaksh pursed his lips. “Yes. That won’t even require the full ritual.” He stood and put one hand on the girl’s head. “Stay here.”
Ekaaksh moved forward into the center of the cemetery. His head tilted about as if he sought a sound, a voice. “Have you heard of the vetala?” the sorcerer asked over his shoulder.
“Children’s stories,” Adhrit said.
“Like many of the things in stories, they are real. Spirits of the dead who can’t escape their fates. They dwell in places like this. I am going to show you one.” He closed his eyes and began muttering something that Adhrit didn’t recognize. He held up his hands and uttered a single, loud word. Then he exhaled loudly. “It is done.”
“What?” Adhrit asked. “I see nothing.”
Ekaaksh smiled. “You will.”
Adhrit sighed and crossed his arms. Ekaaksh went back to his tools. The girl continued to kneel in silence. Adhrit scowled at the old man, and muttered an apology to the goat.
Then he caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see the ground disturbed . . . from underneath. Two mottled limbs bloated by damp reaching, struggling to free themselves of earth.
“You may want to have your sword ready,” Ekaaksh said without a glance in Adhrit’s direction.
The body emerged like a wriggling worm. Dirt and grass streaked the corpse. It had been female, that much was clear from the hanging flaps of skin that had once been breasts. Upright, it paused to orient itself, then it lurched toward Adhrit on stiff limbs.
Adhrit drew his sword and held it before him. “This is the vetala?”
“The vetala is the spirit,” Ekaaksh said. “But it can inhabit a corpse. Assuming someone, a talented sorcerer for instance, helps it to.”
Adhrit backed away from the thing. “But why?”
“Insubstantial spirits crave solidity. Only . . . ”
“Only what?” Adhrit snapped. His heart beat fiercely and sweat beaded his brown and neck.
“The process creates a terrible hunger. That thing . . . well, it won’t embrace you. If it catches you, it will feast.”
The vetala lurched forward with its mouth slack. Adhrit brought his sword down, but because of his haste, the blow struck the thing’s shoulder at an angle. Still, he sheared through the limb sending the arm falling to the ground.
The vetala did not stop stalking him.
“It will seek prey until a truly vital organ is destroyed,” Ekaaksh said. “The liver. The brain. Or heart.”
The vetala swung the other arm at Adhrit and he barely managed to throw himself out of its reach. Taking a breath, he decided to test Ekaaksh’s words. Taata had insisted that both sons learn how to fight, but playing the ascetic had required Adhrit forget the sword. He lashed out with the weapon, aiming for the creature’s head.
He missed but struck the creature in the neck and parted the head from the shoulders. The head fell backwards onto the ground. The body continued to stumble, to walk. With a hiss, Adhrit rolled past the thing and came up over its head. The mouth still moved despite its separation from the body. Adhrit brought the sword down with all of his strength, driving it through the skull and into the brain beneath.
The corpse body fell to the ground. The head stilled.
“See?” Ekaaksh said. “I told you.”
“That thing almost killed me!”
“And this ritual will . . . ?”
“Allow me to draw more of the vetala here, give them bodies to inhabit, give you an army. Not a sweet-smelling one, mind you.” Ekaaksh laughed.
He was mad. Truly mad. Yet Adhrit imagined the sight of such creatures would unnerve even the most seasoned soldier.
He gazed back upon the limp corpse. He frowned. That had once been someone’s mother or someone’s daughter. Had this woman’s soul moved on? Wasn’t that what allowed the vetala to take them?
The five great vows Adhrit had taken tasted like bitter ashes in his mouth. “The souls of the dead are gone, Ekaaksh.”
“Hmm.”
“Tell me. That these are nothing but empty vessels buried in the dirt.”
Ekaaksh shook his head. “You have merely replaced a physical hunger with a spiritual one. The trick about hunger, however, is that it will always return.” He snorted. “At least my hungers are easier to sate. And more enjoyable.
“Now, I will need you to watch over me. Ensure that I’m not disturbed. Or attacked by a wild tiger.”
Adhrit ground his teeth together but nodded.
“And you mustn’t disturb me, either. Especially not when I’m coupling with the girl.”
“What?” Adhrit said.
Ekaaksh shook his head. “Your vows might have doused the fire in your loins, but some of us depend upon it.” He nudged the girl. “She is a prostitute. And she is being compensated.”
Adhrit stalked over to the girl, placing himself between the sorcerer and her. He bent toward her. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Anjali, sir.”
“You can go, Anjali,” Adhrit said. “I’ll not let him do this.”
“No, please,” she said. She stood and pulled at his shirt. “He is paying me double what I would make otherwise. While I am bleeding. And when I would normally make nothing. Please, you must. For my family.”
Adhrit swallowed his bile and turned away from her. “Is she even old enough for this?”
“She is old enough to have flowered,” Ekaaksh said. “Which is why she is needed.”
Adhrit could feel his soul blackening at the edges.
“Shall I begin?” Ekaaksh asked.
Adhrit longed to say no. To send Ekaaksh back to his vile cave. To take the girl to the temple, clean her up. To lead a group of men to ask the Macedonian to leave beautiful Ramyasthana standing. To prostrate, to beg. But he knew that none of these things would help his brother, his people. “Begin.”
He didn’t watch Ekaaksh work. He stared at the sky while the goat bleated its pain, when he heard the old man’s grunts as he took the girl. He imagined a great wheel, the turning cycle of reincarnation. And he pictured himself, his true self, his soul, being crushed beneath it and ground into the dirt.
Once the ritual was completed, Ekaaksh slid to the ground, his skin dripping with sweat, weariness etched into his face. “Go,” he said. “Tell the raja that it is done. I will meet him on the morrow.”
Adhrit did so, happy to be free of the cemetery. He stopped to rest, tossing and turning on his simple mat, but sleep eluded him. He waited for morning, then visited his brother.
Sankara listened to Adhrit’s report, then nodded. “You should return to the cemetery. I need your eyes on this sorcerer. I will gather my men and join you shortly.”
Adhrit returned, rousing Ekaaksh from sleep. He also made sure the girl had been paid and sent her on her way. “This business is not for you,” he said.
A short while later, a pale Sankara entered the cemetery, his retinue following close behind. He was girded for battle, bearing an axe and wearing a hide vest, the inheritance of more violent ancestors. Was he anticipating heading into battle?
Ekaaksh moved forward, wiping blood and dirt from his skin. “Greetings, my raja,” he said.
“Is it ready?” Sankara asked.
Ekaaksh nodded. “The ritual has been completed. The spirits have been bound.”
“They will fight for us?”
“Yes,” Ekaaksh said. “A bargain has been made. In return for the use of the bodies, they will follow my commands.”
Sankara turned aside to Adhrit. “Is the sorcerer trustworthy?”
Adhrit snorted. “His love of wealth is. And the excesses to which that wealth can be used. He will do what is necessary for the payment you promised.”
Sankara took a deep breath and looked around at the cemetery. “These are the bodies of our people. It seemed justified, but now that I look around . . . ”
“They are only bodies. Their souls have moved on already.” He was aware that he was trying to convince himself as well as his brother.
Sankara nodded.
“But our souls still are here, brother,” Adhrit said. “And what we do here affects their journey.” He clasped his brother by the arms. “There’s still time to turn away from this path. We can run. Or else face Alexander knowing that we haven’t sullied our souls—”
Sankara shook his head. “It is too late to turn back now,” he said. “I’ll not see Ramyasthana destroyed.” He turned to Ekaaksh. “When can you bring them forth? And how long will they last?”
“Oh, they will not decay while the vetala are inside of them. They gain strength from the spirit. But I can not call them up until your enemies are almost upon you. As I told your brother, they have a great hunger and are driven to feed. I could hold them for some time, but their appetites will overwhelm them.”
Sankara nodded. “Very well. I have scouts out monitoring the position of Alexander’s forces. They will let us know when they are approaching. Then we will assemble our new army and draw them to us.”
He turned back to Adhrit. “Are you ready, little brother?” he asked. “History will say that this is where we changed its course.”
Adhrit said nothing. The accounting of the years meant little compared to the accounting of his soul.
Word came the next day that Alexander’s forces were moving toward Ramyasthana, though they would have to cross the river first. Adhrit was given a hide vest to wear, and Ekaaksh was told to call the vetala forth.
One by one, grotesque seedlings, they sprouted. Stained and decayed corpses emerging from the earth. Adhrit began scanning the assembled creatures before forcing himself to stop. You don’t want to see your father like this, he told himself. Or worse, your mother.
At last they had all emerged, hundreds of them, all stumbling about the cemetery. Sankara’s troops, wide-eyed, backed away from them. Adhrit knew how they felt. One had seemed like a horror. This was an abomination. He could only hope it would fall like a hammer on Alexander’s men.
“We must protect the sorcerer,” Sankara told Adhrit.
Adhrit nodded.
They waited as Sankara’s meager troops feinted at the enemy, their goal to draw them to the grounds outside the cemetery, where the vetala stood.
Downwind thankfully, Adhrit thought. Sweat dripped from his eyes. Burning tears. The only sound of the jungle louder than his breathing was the nearby roar of the river. At least we have the Vipasa at our backs, Adhrit thought. He jumped at every bird call, at the belch that Ekaaksh let out, at a passing monkey. Then a flock of frightened birds erupted from the trees in front of them and soldiers poured through, armed and armored.
The vetala shambled on stiff limbs and rotten old bones. The soldiers moved faster and, almost before the Macedonians knew it, they were among the corpses. The hunger within the creatures revealed itself.
Adhrit saw one of the vetala lunge forward, gripping an enemy with its thick limbs. Unnatural strength drew the armored soldier toward it, gripping it tightly. Then the vetala bit into the man’s face, as a child might eat fruit. The man’s cries were swallowed, literally, by the creature.
Screams filled the air as the vetala fed. Blood painted their bodies red. Adhrit spared a glance at Ekaaksh and found the sorcerer s
miling at the destruction. “See?” he said. “Glorious.”
Adhrit felt sick to his stomach and only the fact that he had not eaten that morning spared him from vomiting onto the ground. The display left him nauseated. The wanton violence, the death. He had given up the eating of meat so as to do less harm in the world and yet here he faced these . . . things devouring men.
We are all damned, he thought.
The vetala routed the enemy. They fell back through the jungle’s trees.
Ekaaksh roared, slapping Adhrit on the back. “See what victory I have sold you?”
Adhrit shook his head. “Something’s wrong. That was far too few men. Alexander’s force has to be much larger than that.”
“What does that mean?” Ekaaksh asked.
“I don’t know,” Adhrit said. “Maybe this was just to test us? Maybe they’re moving in a different direction. I should follow after them.” He looked at the sorcerer, who he was supposed to be protecting. “You’ll just have to come with me.” He grabbed the scrawny man by the arm and dragged him after the fleeing soldiers.
They plunged into the jungle, Adhrit keeping one eye on the sorcerer. Ahead of them, vetala moved like shadows through the trees. Now that they had fed, they were more limber, faster. The Macedonians, desperate to escape, looked small in number.
Adhrit made them crouch behind some trees to watch the last of the soldiers disappear into the distance. Behind them, the vetala stopped and began to return to the cemetery. “They will remain on guard?” Adhrit whispered.
Ekaaksh nodded, wiping his brow with his arm. “But their hunger has increased. I can hold them for a time, but your brother must decide how long. Perhaps this Alexander will withdraw?”
“Perhaps. But we might not know for some time.”
“The quicker the better,” Ekaaksh said. His eyes seemed sunken into dark pits and his hands were shaking. His control was clearly taxing him.
“Let’s head back.” They pushed back through the trees, in the direction of the cemetery.
“Slow down, slow down,” Ekaaksh said. He yanked his arm free and stood bent over, sucking in breath. Adhrit cursed at the man, who answered in kind. Then Ekaaksh screamed and leapt, slapping at one leg.