Sword of the Deceiver (33 page)

She had been the whole of his existence since his childhood, since his mother and father had brought him to the temple, and made him kneel before the altar. They had handed over what little money they had to the priest to take him in as an acolyte. All his brothers and sisters were dead of the plague in the village. They had walked miles to find a temple that would not shut its doors against the illness that might follow them.

The last thing his father did for him was to kneel on the temple floor at his side.

“Look at her, Divakesh,” his father had whispered hoarsely so only Divakesh could hear. “Love her with all your heart and you will understand, today and all the days to come. She will never desert you, not for hunger or any other need of flesh and bone. She is all the love there is.”

Divakesh had gazed on that simple statue, not even turning around as he heard the tread of his parents’ bare feet on the floor, leaving him. He saw how this was only a representation, a symbol of something greater. Since then, he had striven to understand, and to be worthy of that greater divinity.

As it did so often, Divakesh’s heart swelled taut with his secret. His only desire, his only need in life was to look upon the true face of the goddess, to see Her true eyes and know he was worthy. He would work a lifetime and more, and knew he already had. All his being for each turn of the wheel, Divakesh was sure, had been honed for that moment, and that he had risen so high in this life was proof that he was close.

Today was a great day and it seemed to Divakesh the dance they danced was one of creation. Creating victory, creating blessing. The defiant and blasphemous princess was exposed for what she was and her influence on the small domain was ended. Within a few hours of the dawn sacrifice, the false sorceress would have her sentence publicly read. Then, she would come to stand on the great altar, and she would die. The shedding of her blood would purify the palace, and with that act, the army of the Mothers would march to war. Sindhu was the strongest and most arrogant of the protectorates that followed the vain Anidita. With Sindhu gone, that false worship would quickly crumble and true devotion to the Mothers would take its proper place.

Feeling the depths of his many blessings, Divakesh prostrated himself before Mother Jalaja for a long time. Then he washed, dressed in his scarlet robe, and went to the common room.

The common room, in the outer part of the temple living quarters, was quiet today. For once there was no conversation to be silenced when he appeared, only a hasty swallowing of rice and lentils by those who could not yet discipline themselves to perform the day’s first dance before they had fed their bodies. All knew it was a great day and all knew how it was to begin.

It was still dark outside. Dawn was nothing more than a white line on the horizon and countless stars still shone overhead. The silhouette of the Queen of Heaven stood on Her pedestal above the ever-burning flame. Divakesh mounted the steps and prostrated himself before Her. All around him, the others lit incense and lamps. They made sure each of the Mothers had her due offering of saffron rice, and was properly anointed with oil and perfume. Divakesh’s own task was worship, pure and entire. He emptied his thoughts of all but Heaven and Heaven’s queen, so powerful, so beautiful in blessing, so terrible in wrath. It was Her wrath he would embody today and all would know the cost of betraying Mother Jalaja.

Divakesh rose to his knees and made the salute of trust. Beside him, Asok waited, holding the white pillow where the sword rested. Divakesh lifted the great curving blade and kissed the flat. He tasted the steel and for a moment permitted himself to savor it.

He stood. All the others had repaired to the stairs below the altar platform. This place, this office, was his alone. Divakesh raised the sword, and began the dance.

Divakesh danced as he always did, with heart and mind full. He would give his best to the Mothers. He would hold nothing back. Praise, strength, breath, he would give all he had. If blood were demanded, he would give blood. He was the son of the Mothers. He was voice and heart and infinite soul. They were All, and he would show his understanding of this truth with each movement of his body, each beat of his quickened heart.

Slowly, Divakesh realized he did not dance alone. There was another with him, matching his movements, as he turned, as he knelt, as he swung the sword high. Outrage shook him, and yet he knew he could not stop. To stop would be to break the pattern, to allow imperfection into the dance of praise, and he would not permit that. He spun again, straining to catch a glimpse of the one who violated the sanctity of the dance.

It was a woman. She turned just at the edge of his vision. He glimpsed her before he made the bow. Gold flashed on her arms and about her waist. And more. He whirled again, and paused, holding the pose. He could not see her. Where had she gone? Pivot slow, kneel again. There. The flash of movement, the white flash …

The white flash of diamonds and gold. And Divakesh lifted his eyes to the pedestal before him.

The image of Heaven’s Queen was gone. There was only the stone pedestal and the rising flame. And the woman who danced beside him. Divakesh prostrated himself instantly, fear and wonder rushing through his blood. It was Mother Jalaja with whom he danced. The Queen of Heaven was beside him now, not just in image, but in divine truth. Wonder dizzied him and he feared he would fall unconscious with the glory of it.

She moved without a sound, and yet Divakesh knew She came nearer. Some distant part of him was aware that all the others, the priests and the acolytes, had also dropped down in worship, but he could spare no real thought for them. Every fiber in him felt Her approach as one felt the wind, the warm sun, or the nearness of fire.

“Look at me, Divakesh.”

Trembling, Divakesh obeyed. She was glory itself. She wore an aspect akin to that of the statue he had danced before. But on Her living form the gold was crude and cold, an encumbrance more than adornment. She was the awesome purity of the night sky; the calm and the storm together were in Her eyes. Before, he had thought he had seen Her holding a sword. Now, he saw it was a delicate lotus She cupped in Her hands.

“Divakesh, my priest. Do you know me?”

“I … Yes, Queen of Heaven. I know you.”

“Yet you did not know me so recently.”

As soon as She spoke the words, he was before the emperor again, within his own body and yet apart and watching himself. The other self was so proud, yet so afraid and weak, and his voice was as harsh as the vulture’s when he said, “Oh, my sovereign, that was an evil dream. The woman was a devil, the temptation of sin calling you to forswear your purity and pollute yourself by mixing with the outcasts and the blooded.”

Divakesh clapped his hands over his face in shame and fear. “I feared my emperor was deceived.”

“How could any take my shape in deception, Divakesh?” Her voice was so mild, so sad, it wrung tears from his eyes. He looked up and saw Her gentle sorrow and wished at once to grope for the sword at his feet so he might end himself and never cause even the slightest grief to Her again.

“I … I spoke error. I beg forgiveness.”

She smiled then and all the world was right in an instant. “You have it, my priest.”

Such beauty, such wonder. There were no words. Not even the dance was praise enough. “I do not deserve it.”

She cocked her head. “Why not?”

“I … I …”

She laughed, and there had never been music so pure. When it faded, Divakesh felt a stab of sorrow.

“You are taking my children to war, Divakesh. Why are you doing that?”

Divakesh found he did not understand. Why would She ask such a question? Was it a test? “I … it is the emperor …”

The Queen of Heaven frowned, and Divakesh prostrated himself again, his frame trembling as if it would shake apart. “It is you, Divakesh. Why?”

Confusion racked him. This was Her war. Her will. “But … surely you know, Mother of All. It is for your glory. To spread your worship and eliminate falsehood and show that your rule in Heaven is absolute.” His tremors eased as he spoke and some measure of his confidence returned.

“Have I asked that my worship be increased?”

The question so stunned Divakesh that his head jerked up and for a moment he looked into the goddess’s stormy eyes.

“But …”

“I am who I am, Divakesh, have I ten worshippers or ten thousand.” Her voice was great enough to shake the heavens and soft enough that he had to strain with all his might to hear a single word of it. “The stars know my name, the sun knows it and the earth sings it with each dawn. This is truth and will not change for your war. What great honor do the fires of forced worship bring me?”

“But …” He shook. He wanted nothing more than to bow before Her, but he could not. He did not understand how this could be, and yet he knew he must understand. “The followers of Anidita teach falsehood …”

“Why do you believe there is only one path to Heaven, Divakesh?”

He could not look at Her. She burned too brightly. He had to close his eyes, to put a shield of darkness between himself and Her. But it did no good. Her presence was not to be lessened by anything he could do.

“But … you … Hastinapura is your home.”

“And within that house I will be secure, Divakesh. Believe this.” She was closer now, and he could do nothing but lift his face and look at Her, at the calm and the storm of Her. She whispered now, words that only his deepest soul could hear. “Do not turn your eyes from this truth, or I will have no choice but to visit blessing upon others who see me more clearly.”

“But, we are your children … and …”

“Yes. You are.” She stepped back, lifting lotus and sword to the rising dawn. “Let that be enough for you.”

And She was gone.

Divakesh blinked. The pedestal was still empty. The image and the substance of Jalaja both had left him.

Divakesh bowed his head and began to weep. He sobbed like a child, his despair complete. Priests and acolytes rushed up the stairs to the altar. Some began to ask questions, their voices a meaningless gabble in his ears.

“Did you see Her?” He clutched the hand of the one nearest him without any idea who it might be. “Did you hear?”

“I saw only a great light, Holy One,” answered a man. Asok. It was Asok. “And you danced with it, and it spoke …” He swallowed hard. “She spoke against the march to Sindhu.” Asok’s voice broke and tears shone in his eyes. “Master, what have we done?”

What have we done? What have I done?
Divakesh stared at the empty pedestal from which the Queen of Heaven had vanished. He tried to recall the perfection of Her form, but could not do so clearly. It was too much for his mortal mind. He remembered Her light, Her warmth, the intensity of Her presence as She spoke. She said … She told him …

Within that house I will be secure, Divakesh. Believe this
.

“We must go to the emperor at once, Holy One,” whispered Asok hoarsely. He was still shaking. All the priests were. Some wept tears of fear and wonder. Most were still on their knees, unable, it seemed, to move from this spot, this moment. “We must tell him to stand down the army and go no further with this war.”

Divakesh bowed his head. Beside the burning light of Mother Jalaja, he saw Natharie of Sindhu facing him down, her own blood dripping from her throat, unafraid before him and before the Queen of Heaven though he could strike her down as due sacrifice. She knelt, but remained defiant in her vanity and blasphemy. He thought of the king and queen who brought her into this life, of their whole country, thousands upon thousands of souls equally blasphemous, equally defiant and unafraid before the great light that had come down to him. It could not be that Mother Jalaja meant this unspeakable, galling pride to continue. It was incomprehensible that the Mother of all that was true and perfect should permit error and blasphemy to reign inside Her borders.

Within that house I will be secure
.

It could not be true that the little foreign princess with her beads and her unashamed eyes understood better than he did. It could not be that his understanding that he had worked so hard for, the austerities to which he had pushed himself, the sleep and food and love denied and sacrifice in the service of the Mothers had been in error.

“Holy One?” said Asok again, his voice trembling as badly as his hands. “Holy One? Should we not go to the emperor now?”

But it was a different voice Divakesh attended. A different phrase, that was the heart of all She had said.

Within that house I will be secure
.

Yes. That was what She meant. Of course. It was his flawed understanding that had confused him for a moment. Divakesh raised his head. He looked at Asok, and Asok jerked backward. Divakesh felt the holy light burning brightly inside him, and knew it was that which made his acolyte afraid. Asok did not understand yet. That was all right. It was his role as high priest to make all things clear.

One motion at a time, Divakesh stood. “Lohit was not of itself formally part of Hastinapura,” he explained patiently to those around him, who had heard and not understood. They could not have understood what had confused him. “The treaty had been differently worded, and the nature of the tribute was separate from that paid by Sindhu. It had been wrong to punish Lohit, which was not truly a part of the realm of the Mothers.” He must accept that sin and do proper penance to right the balance again. “But Sindhu
is
a part of the empire, and so must be brought into proper worship and be made pure.”

They stared at him, the priests on their knees, the young men on their bellies. Their mouths gaped, showing how stunned they were at the clarity of his perception. Asok had gone white in shock.

“Holy One …” Asok began.

“Have you a question?” inquired Divakesh coldly. “Speak. I will tell you the truth. Mother Jalaja has shown it to me.”

Asok’s mouth opened and closed several times, as understanding of what had truly happened sank into him. Divakesh thought perhaps his acolyte should have shown more wonder and less fear, but fear was appropriate. Wonder would come later, when this first flush of feeling had faded. “No, Holy One,” Asok whispered, and his voice shook, although Divakesh could tell he was trying very hard to keep it calm and steady. “I have no question.”