by J. S. Bangs
If Cauratha saw Navran’s discomfort, he ignored it. “Navran, you were bought yesterday from slavery, cleansed, and united to our house. I did not tell you immediately what our purpose was. But now I do. You are my son.”
The whole table was silent. Navran raised his head with an expression of guarded alarm. He looked from Cauratha’s face to Mandhi’s, then around the table. No one spoke. Cauratha extended his hand to Navran, inviting him to speak, but Navran looked at it as if it were a cobra. The silence went on far past the point of discomfort before Cauratha continued.
“You may have questions. You said yesterday that your father gave you the star-iron ring, from which I gathered that you had a father. But the ring was not his. It was always yours. Your father must have raised you as a foundling, though I suspect that he never told you. Your ring, you see, is a copy of mine.”
He raised his hand and showed the star-iron band on his first finger to all of them. The hair on Mandhi’s neck stood up. He wouldn’t reveal himself now to Navran. Surely he wasn’t that foolhardy.
Cauratha gestured to her. “Mandhi wears one copy. There are a few others, which would have belonged to my other children if there had been any. Mandhi’s mother—your mother—died shortly after Mandhi was born, nineteen years ago. I never remarried. And we believed that you had died twenty-five years ago when Ruyam came to Virnas.” He hesitated for a moment. “Have you heard of Ruyam?”
Navran looked away from Cauratha. He answered quietly, “I have. Only the name.”
“Then let me explain,” Cauratha said with a smile. He was in his didactic mode, the mode in which he had taught Mandhi everything she knew of the worship of Ulaur, the geography of Amur, history, finance, poetry, administration, cloth-dying, silver-smithing, navigation, and astrology. He was happiest reading, but after that he was happiest teaching. He took up the Teacher’s posture again and began to explain.
“Ruyam was an advisor to the Emperor thirty years ago. Perhaps more than an advisor—they said that as long as he was in Majasravi, he wielded more power than the Emperor himself. And under Ruyam’s influence the Emperor revived the old edicts against the Uluriya and sought to drive us from the shores of Amur. He began by purging Majasravi, Gumadha, and Davrakhanda of all who bore the pentacle, and the vassal kings of those cities acquiesced to him. But before that evil task was complete he took command of a portion of the imperial guard and marched to Virnas, burning every Uluriya habitation that he found along the way. He thought to rout the Uluriya entirely by destroying the ancient capital of Manjur. But he did not reckon that we have many friends here, even in the unclean world. The king of Virnas refused to turn the city over to him, going so far as to close the gates of the city in his face. Afterwards the Emperor ordered him killed and gave the kingdom of Virnas to the House of Thudra—” Cauratha said the name with a bitter scowl “—who so unworthily rules the city now.
“But I’m getting ahead of the story. Where was I? Ah, yes: when the old king wouldn’t open the gates Ruyam attacked, broke through, and attempted to pacify the city. There was battle in the streets for a day and a night, for the citizens of the city rose up to protect their friends and neighbors and to repair the insults which Ruyam had given to their city’s honor. And this is where your story begins.”
Kidri entered carrying a tray laden with cups of steaming tea. Cauratha accepted a porcelain cup from her hand and took a sip. The rest of the table took their cups while Cauratha continued to speak. “I was in Virnas at the time, but when the fighting began I fled with my wife, my son, and a nursemaid. The nurse carried the boy, since my wife was weak from childbirth and needed my assistance. We took the secret way, known only to the inhabitants of this house. There is a way out of Virnas through the Ruin beneath this house, descending through the catacombs. We fled in darkness and chaos. At some point we became separated from the maid, and we could not find her in the tunnels. Eventually we made it to the exit ourselves and took refuge in a nearby village, but we could not return to the city to search for them. By the time peace was restored it was too late. We never saw either of them again.”
He blinked rapidly and wiped at his eyes. He spoke in a gravelly whisper. “I thought my son was dead. I later had a daughter, Mandhi, who has been as much a blessing to me as any child can be, but no other son. And so I thought I would go to my grave, until Gocam told me otherwise.”
A smile played around the corner of his mouth. “You will meet Gocam some day. He’s a thikratta of Ternas, an old friend and ally, gifted with farsight and all of the other arts of the thikratta. He sent me a letter saying that I should seek a man named Navran who wore my son’s ring. I have never been happier. My son was alive. You were alive.” He pointed to Navran, his face flushed with pride. “So I sent Mandhi and Taleg to search for you. And eventually, they found you.”
Navran glanced from Mandhi to Taleg with an unreadable expression. Srithi glared at them. Her father, by the merciful stars, seemed not to notice.
“The ring was how they knew you,” Cauratha went on. “Mandhi went to great lengths to recover it from a man who had stolen it from you.” He raised his eyebrows at Navran looking for some confirmation, but Navran was a stone. “It’s the only thing of value—immense value—that we have. Otherwise, Veshta supports me as a saghada with my family. But we do well. I think you will find that the estate is comfortable and welcoming.”
He took another sip of tea and look at Navran with an expectant expression. “Do you have any questions?”
Navran looked down and fidgeted with the cup of tea in front of him. He dipped his finger into the liquid and ran it along the lip of the cup, sending a drop dribbling down the side. “What do you want from me?”
Cauratha blinked and leaned back. The eagerness of his face faded, and his jaw rocked for a little while as if he stuttered. “I want you to be my son.”
“I didn’t ask to be anyone’s son.” He clenched his jaw and put his fist on the table. “You’ve been kind to me. But I’m not like you. I can’t do anything good for you.”
“I am not asking you to do anything good,” Cauratha said. His voice began to crack. “I’m not asking you to do anything at all.”
Navran clenched and unclenched his fists. “You want me to stay here? Eat your food? Wander your halls?”
Tears began to trickle down Cauratha’s face. “My son. Having you here is reason enough.”
“No.” Navran gestured violently at the remnants of the feast on the table. “This isn’t my life. If you bring me here, I’ll only ruin it—”
“Navran, my son—” Cauratha broke in.
Navran ignored him. “Do you think I’m an idiot? You’re not telling me everything. One day you’ll show me your real game, and either I’ll get screwed, or you will.”
He lurched abruptly to his feet. “I’m going.” Cauratha’s chin fell against his chest and silent tears trickled into his beard.
Taleg grabbed Navran’s sleeve. “Sit down, man,” he whispered. “You’re not going to get many offers better than this one in your life.”
Navran shook his arm free. “I didn’t stomp on your lives.” He gave a long, pointed stare at Mandhi. “Now don’t stomp on mine.” He stalked past Veshta to the exit of the dining room.
Mandhi threw down her cup of tea and leapt up after him. He was storming down the hall, but she pulled up the skirts of her sari and ran after him until she caught him at the edge of the courtyard. She grabbed his arm and spun him to face her.
“Have some shame,” she hissed. “Or at least have pity.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Pity for whom?”
“On Cauratha! Our father. Or are you too dense to notice him weeping?”
Navran slouched against the wall. Silence followed.
“Stay. For his sake.” And for mine, she added silently. “He’s close to death, and if you leave now, it might kill him.”
Navran’s gaze was unnervingly direct. “You take care of your fathe
r.”
“I try to.”
“And you screw the Kaleksha behind his back.”
She swung her hand to slap him, but stayed her hand just short of his face. He flinched. Mandhi gritted her teeth. “That’s not your problem. And we were properly married under the law of Ulaur.”
Navran’s chest heaved. He picked at the embroidery on his white cotton shirt. “You say it’s a kindness to the old man if I stay.”
“Yes.”
He looked back at Mandhi, and his stony glare melted into an earnest plea. “I’ve done worse for a meal and a bed. But I can’t to him now.” He shook his head.
“Stay in your chamber, then, or wander the estate. I’ll go back.”
When she returned to the dining room, Veshta and Srithi had left, leaving only Taleg holding Cauratha’s hand. Mandhi glanced down the hall to be sure no one lingered nearby, then pulled the heavy curtain shut behind her.
“That man should not be the next Heir of Manjur,” she spat.
Cauratha groaned. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. I had a son for two days. Now he’s gone.” He leaned into Taleg’s shoulder and began to weep.
“He’s not gone,” Mandhi said. “I caught up with him in the courtyard and convinced him to stay.”
Cauratha lifted his head and looked at Mandhi with a wet, heartbroken stare. But a sliver of hope showed on his mouth. “Oh, Mandhi. You are worth two sons to me. Come here.” He reached for her hand and pressed it against his cheek.
Taleg cleared his throat. “It’s probably good we didn’t say anything about Manjur, though.”
Mandhi put her hand on her father’s head. “Navran’s smarter than he looks. He may put it together before too long. After all, how many estates hide an entrance to the Ruin of Ulaur’s temple?”
“Soon enough,” Cauratha crooned, as if on the verge of sleep. “Soon enough, he’ll be ready.”
Taleg raised an eyebrow at Mandhi. She mouthed: never.
4
“Ho! Up!” Taleg crashed through the curtain of the men’s ablution chamber with a weak, struggling Navran slung over his shoulder.
“Put me down, you rancid snow giant,” Navran slurred. His fists beat against Taleg’s back. He let loose a string of curses so vile that Mandhi reddened at the other end of the courtyard. She clenched her teeth and stormed down the passage after them.
“Where did you find him this time?” Mandhi asked.
“Oh, more of the same,” Taleg said. “Gambling on the wharves by the Maudhu river, getting drunker and losing more by the minute.” He shrugged Navran off his shoulder and dropped him gently on his feet.
“Star-damned goat piss,” Navran said. “I was going to win. Did I tell you to come get me?” He staggered back a step, then lurched forward swinging wildly with his jaw and fists clenched. Taleg caught his punch in his hand and grabbed Navran around the wrist to keep him from falling on his face. Navran kicked and swore.
“The big advantage of when he’s drunk,” Taleg said grinning, “is that he’s much more talkative, and his punches are easier to block.”
Mandhi curled her lip in disgust. “Did you find his money purse?”
Taleg nodded and tossed the bag of coins to her.
“That’s my money, you slut,” Navran said. Taleg kicked him in the stomach. Navran howled and grabbed his gut, sobbing violently.
“That was a tap,” Taleg said. “I’m in a good mood, or else you’d be hurting worse than that for insulting Mandhi.”
“Yes, of course you watch out for your slut—”
Taleg bent and put his hand over Navran’s mouth. Navran began to struggle, but Taleg pinned him to the ground with his other hand. “How much is left?”
Mandhi grunted. “Some. Less than last time.” In the past month he hadn’t quite reduced Veshta’s house to penury with his drinking and gambling, but if he kept it up….
“Yes, well, he’s getting harder to find,” Taleg said. “It’s funny, though: he doesn’t lie. As long as the game is jaha and he’s sober, he beats everyone. But eventually the other men at the wharf get tired of losing and insist that they play sacchu, and then he gets drunk, and then it’s all over.”
Navran squirmed away from Taleg’s grip and shouted, “The dice hate me! I hate sacchu! Let me go.”
“Are you going to quit squirming like a worm and be a man, now?”
Navran stopped his flailing. Taleg took his hands off of him, and Navran struggled to sit up, swaying and shuddering. He looked from Taleg to Mandhi with a expression of hatred.
“Stick to the games of skill,” Taleg said. “The dice do hate you, but you’re hard to beat at capturing the towers on the jaha board.”
The voice of Veshta’s page startled Mandhi. “Is he well?” Habdana asked.
“Bring him some rice and some mild beer to take the edge off,” Mandhi said. “And he’ll be fine.”
“I’ll tell Kidri,” Habdana said. “But Cauratha wants to speak to you and Taleg.”
Taleg wiped his hands of Navran’s saliva and vomit. He glanced at Mandhi with a bemused smile. “Let me wash up. Tell your father I’ll be right up.”
Mandhi nodded and ascended the marble stairs to her father’s room. She found him hunched over his desk, fingering two separate ink-scribbled palm leaves, his lips moving silently as he read them.
“Come in, Mandhi,” he said. “Is Taleg not here?”
“He will cleanse himself after bringing Navran in, then come up.” She knelt next to her father.
Cauratha sighed and set down the palm leaves. He rubbed his ashy brows and rested his head against the desk. “What has my son done this time?”
The phrase my son buzzed like a hornet in Mandhi’s ears. Swallowing the bilious reflux at the back of her throat, she said, “The same as always. Drinking. Gambling. Fighting Taleg when he gets brought in. Swearing.”
Cauratha groaned. “I wish I understood. It’s been a month, and he gets worse every day.”
Mandhi bit her tongue. She sometimes wished that Navran would simply disappear, if it wouldn’t endanger her marriage to Taleg. But these wishes weren’t something she could share with her father.
“I wonder if I shouldn’t tell him.”
“Tell him what? That you are the Heir?”
“Yes, and that he should carry the line after me. Give him a sense of responsibility, an appreciation of the gravity of the situation.”
“Only if you want to ascend to the stars more quickly. Navran would get drunk and give you up within days, and then the king of Virnas would have your head.”
“Navran might do that. But he might come to his senses.”
Taleg appeared at the door a moment later, hands still dripping wet. He bowed to Cauratha and said, “It was like bathing a rutting goat, but I did get Navran back home. He’s taking food and rest now.”
“I had hoped,” Cauratha croaked, “that being here in the estate among other Uluriya would temper whatever evil habits he acquired elsewhere. But this hope dies daily.” He picked up the palm-leaf pages and extended the first one to Mandhi. “So perhaps I need another hope. Read this.”
It was a letter. The crumbling wax on the seal showed a sea eagle, with the abbreviated name of the city of Davrakhanda above it. Mandhi glanced at the salutation and let out a gasp: Aidasa Sadja darya Davrakhandaha. The king of Davrakhanda. She scanned the rest of it: he greeted Cauratha and Veshta with the usual formulas for the life of the Emperor, then claimed to have interest in a man named Navran. He invited Navran and anyone else who would accompany him to come to Davrakhanda under his protection and ended with sincere hope that they would come quickly.
And that was it. No indication of how he knew of Navran, what he wanted, or what the purpose of going to Davrakhanda was. Mandhi passed the letter to Taleg, who read it and passed it back to Cauratha with an expression of bewilderment.
“Do you all think that was as strange as I do?” Taleg asked. “I hardly know where to begin.”
“It’s a trap,” Mandhi said. “None of it makes any sense.”
“A trap,” Cauratha said. “I had the same thought. But for whom? For Navran?”
“As if anyone would want him,” Mandhi muttered.
“We did,” Taleg retorted. “And Sadja-dar here says that he’s interested in Navran.”
“But why? The Navran we know is not the sort of prize that the king of Davrakhanda would be jealous of.”
Cauratha shook his head. “No. Not the Navran we know, for sure.” He put the palm leaf aside. “I received that letter several days ago, and I chose then to ignore it. But then I received this.”
He gave Mandhi the next leaf, this one sealed with the image of an eagle and a flame. The seal of Gocam, the thikratta who advised Cauratha from distant Ternas. In the letter Gocam addressed Cauratha warmly, then spoke directly: You have received a letter from a student of mine in Davrakhanda. Accept his invitation. He is not a foe.
There the letter ended.
Mandhi looked up at her father. “I don’t understand.”
Cauratha raised his palm to indicate ignorance. “I don’t understand either. But it is from Gocam. Gocam has never led us astray.”
“He led us to Navran.”
Cauratha groaned. “Navran is perhaps not who we expected, but Gocam was not wrong when he said that my son lived.”
“And so what? Do you really think we should go to Davrakhanda?”
Taleg cleared his throat and passed the page back to Cauratha. “I think we should go to Davrakhanda. And we should bring Navran with us. It’ll be a jolly excursion.”
Mandhi scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
“While I am having a lovely time chasing Navran out of gambling pits every day and dragging him drunk back to the estate, a change of pace might do him well. Give him new sights to see. New places to vomit.”
Cauratha winced at Taleg’s joke, but he nodded. “He can’t do worse than here. Perhaps Davrakhanda will be good for him. And when you’ve spoken with Sadja, take him also to Ternas. Gocam will certainly do something to him.”