Temple of a Thousand Faces (19 page)

A discarded section of bamboo lay in their path and Vibol
intentionally stumbled over it, falling on his knees and elbows. One of his guards kicked him in the ribs and he grunted, pleading for mercy. He reached out, searching for something to pull himself up with, and the rope tightened about his neck as he was yanked forward.

Though fear still coursed through him, Vibol was confident in his ploy. He’d watched his brother for many years, and while Prak was able to fend for himself, Vibol understood how his faulty vision made him approach the world. Vibol mimicked Prak’s movements, exaggerating them when he thought it prudent. His guards seemed to no longer find him amusing and simply prodded him ahead.

He was brought to a bamboo structure large enough to house an elephant. Seven Cham officers were gathered around the floor, eating rice and fish. One Cham stood in the corner. The man was tall, thin, had a regal face, and seemed to carefully study him. Vibol avoided his stare, babbling incoherently until a guard yanked on his leash. An officer set down his bowl of rice, scowled, and snapped at the guards, who pulled Vibol back outside. One of the men began to untie him. Relief flooded through Vibol. He held back a smile, eager to tell his parents how easily he had fooled their enemies.

The tall Cham emerged silently from the structure, a tiger’s claw swinging from his neck. He carried a bow and arrow. Before Vibol knew what was happening, the Cham notched the arrow and in one swift motion raised the bow, pointed the arrow at Vibol’s midsection, and let the arrow fly. The shaft flew past his hip, prompting him to flinch. The Cham smiled and lowered the weapon. “You lie,” he said in Khmer.

Vibol’s breath caught in his throat. He pretended not to understand the Cham, who swung the bow up quickly, striking Vibol on the underside of the chin and splitting the skin. Vibol
cried out. He put his hands against his bleeding chin, stumbling away from his attacker. The Cham swung the bow again. This time the weapon hit Vibol on the ear, and he fell to his knees.

The tall man said something in his native tongue and the four guards dragged Vibol toward the lake, where they tied him to a stunted tree. By now Vibol was weeping. He still pretended to be blind, though the thin man only smiled at his antics.

“Share your name, boy,” the Cham said. “Introduce yourself or die.”

“I…”

A dagger appeared as if by magic in the Cham’s right hand, and with equal speed he slashed the blade across Vibol’s cheek. The cut was shallow but stung. Vibol held his hands to his face, pleading for mercy.

“I say again, Khmer, share your name.”

“Vibol.”

“They call me Po Rame.”

“Please, I—”

“Tell me, whelp, why did you come here? Tell me the truth, or I’ll take your eyes and you’ll no longer have to pretend.”

“I only wanted…to see your camp.”

Po Rame moved the dagger so that its point was a finger’s breadth from Vibol’s right eye. “Why?”

“Because someone…from here…killed my friend,” Vibol replied, blood from the wounds on his cheek and chin dripping to his heaving chest. “I wanted revenge.”

“You came to spy on us, didn’t you?”

“I—”

“Who came with you?”

“No one.”

“Did Jayavar send you?”

“Prince Jayavar? He’s dead.”

The dagger’s tip nicked the flesh beneath Vibol’s eyebrow. “He’s not dead, boy. So tell me what you know of him.”

Vibol moaned, his face burning from the cuts.

“Tell me!”

“The prince? He lives in a golden tower. He walks with the Gods and—”

Po Rame straightened. “Walks with the Gods?” he repeated contemptuously. “You foul-smelling fool. If he walks with the Gods, why does he cower in the jungle?”

“Please—”

“You waste my time, peasant, and for that I’ll show you blindness. I could take your eyes, but that would be crude and…unoriginal. No, I have a better idea.”

“Please, please. I won’t tell anyone where you are. I promise.”

“Shout to the world where we are, whelp. Shout tonight.”

“What?”

The dagger disappeared into Po Rame’s hip cloth. “Take him out into the lake,” he said in his native tongue to the guards. “Tie him to a pole, but leave his head above the water. He’ll entertain you when the light’s gone, when the crocodiles find him.”

The men laughed, pulling Vibol to his feet.

“You won’t see them coming, boy,” Po Rame said in Khmer. “You’ll be blind. But come they will. And you’ll never see light again. You hear that, you stinking peasant child?”

Vibol screamed as the guards pulled him away. He tried to fight them, but they beat him, then tossed him into a boat.

When they left him tied to a bamboo pole with his bloody chin just touching the water, he began to cry, wishing that his mother held him, as she had so long ago. He whimpered, calling out to her, watching the murky water, all too aware of what it contained and what his fate would be.

*    *    *

T
he large home was nondescript but well positioned near an entryway in the wall that surrounded Angkor. Situated between the Royal Palace and the moat, the home offered easy access to bathing and ensured that Indravarman did not have to wait long should he request the presence of one of his favorite concubines. Asal wasn’t certain why Voisanne had been sent here, but he suspected that the home also sheltered the concubines of other high-ranking Chams. Indravarman liked to keep track of his officers’ whereabouts, and housing their women together was simply another way of monitoring their activities.

Two Cham guards stood under the ladder leading up into the home. Asal greeted them, acknowledged their quick bows, and asked for Voisanne. One of the guards called up to her in Khmer, then resumed his position. Though eager to tell Voisanne about his discovery, Asal forced himself to be patient. He let his eyes wander. Four female slaves labored beneath the home. Two were adding blue dye to a bolt of silk while two others carefully broke apart a honeycomb, collecting the precious honey in a silver bowl. The stench from the dye was unpleasant, and Asal pitied the slaves, thinking that his fate could have been the same. No matter what position he attained, he would never own a slave, unlike almost everyone else in power. For generations Khmers had used Cham slaves and Chams had used Khmer slaves. To the victor went the spoils, and slaves were a part of that plunder.

Asal had begun to wonder if Voisanne was somewhere else when she finally emerged from the home, stepping down on the bamboo ladder. She was dressed as usual, though she wore a golden bracelet that Asal had not seen before. Wanting to continue the pretense of disdain for her, he commanded her to hurry, muttering that he was tired of waiting. She lurched on the rungs
and he turned around, moving away without another glance in her direction.

Following a narrow road that led to the gateway, Asal walked quickly, worried that he would be away from Indravarman for too long. He passed through the gateway, then headed north alongside the moat, never turning to see if Voisanne followed. The sun beat down on him, prompting him to gaze with envy at the thousands of Khmers who bathed in the placid water. He could have taken Voisanne into the moat, but he wanted to be alone with her when he shared the news of her sister, so that she could react as she wanted and he could enjoy the moment.

His pace increased as he crossed the causeway spanning the moat. Turning to the north, he walked along a bustling road that was nearly overwhelmed with carts, elephants, horses, and people. To his right a series of large sandstone towers rose to the treetops. Someone had told him that the old towers were built to celebrate a Khmer victory on a field of battle, and he was somewhat surprised that Indravarman hadn’t draped them with Cham banners.

Glancing behind him, Asal saw that Voisanne was also sweating heavily. She looked angry, and he wanted to tell her that she would soon be overcome with joy, that he was sorry for having to act toward her with distaste. But he could share no such thoughts and so he proceeded onward, turning to his left so that he followed a path into the jungle. Ruins of a deserted palace dominated the space, and soon silence descended. A cluster of monkeys sat atop a pile of garbage, and Asal avoided the creatures, knowing that their bites could cause illness and death. He headed deeper into the labyrinth of trees, glad to leave the chaos behind, if only for a short time.

Asal had spent much of his life within the jungle, and it didn’t take him long to realize they were being followed. He heard two distinct sets of footfalls, but far behind came a third. Though
tempted to face whoever was spying on them, he decided to feign ignorance, which would allow him to convey any sort of message to their tracker that he wished.

An old royal bathing pool emerged beside the trail, covered in lotus flowers. Asal moved toward it, sitting down on a sandstone terrace that overlooked the water. The entire area was cloaked in shadows, as the nearby trees were numerous and towering. Cicadas buzzed. Frogs croaked. The scents of dampness and decay lingered in the air.

Voisanne sat down on the terrace an arm’s length from him. Though she said nothing, her look was accusatory.

“I apologize, my lady, for my discourtesy,” he said quietly. “But we’re being watched.”

She looked to her right. “But—”

“Please keep your eyes on me. And perhaps…you could pretend to serve me. That way, we can deceive the deceiver.”

Voisanne started to speak and then stopped. She moved to her knees and began to rub his feet, which were calloused and scarred. “Did you find my house?” she asked. “Or was it burned down?”

Asal nodded, longing to share his news but needing to proceed with care. “Whatever I say, you must continue to rub my feet and remain expressionless. Hide your emotions. Hide them and pretend that you hate me.”

“What? What have you learned?”

“I found your home. And later I discovered that a Cham general and his wife live there.”

“A Cham—”

“They have slaves. Many slaves. Most of them are from the mountains, but there’s a young Khmer girl among them. She has a birthmark on her chin and, from the way you described her, I think she’s your sister.”

Voisanne’s hands stilled. She bit her bottom lip, leaning forward, then backward. “It was…on her chin? Right in the middle?”

“The birthmark was where you said it would be. But that’s not why I know she is your sister.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she looks like you. I saw your beauty in her face.”

“Chaya,” she whispered. “Was it really you? Please…please let it be you.”

“Your sister lives. She is a slave, but she seems unharmed.”

Voisanne’s hands tightened around his feet. She looked up. “I need to see her. Right away. I have to tell her that I’ll come for her, that I’ll—”

“Wait, my lady. We must be patient. The Cham who owns your sister is powerful. She looks well. To move with haste could change that.”

“But I have to see her, to let her know that she’s not alone.”

“And you will. But wait a few days. The general will be in the field soon enough. Wait until he’s gone, until I can bring you and your sister together.”

A fish broke the surface of the nearby pool, sending ripples into the lotus flowers. Voisanne wiped away her tears. “And you’re certain your eyes didn’t trick you? I thought I saw her die.”

“I was nearly as close to her as I am to you now.”

“And she wasn’t hurt?”

“She moved like a cat.”

Voisanne bit her lip again, shaking her head. “You have to tell her, tell her that I live.”

“I shall.”

“And then I must go to her.”

Asal smiled. “Have patience, my lady. You need it, though I think that impatience suits you better.”

“Why?”

“Because I like to see you so full of life.”

Her fingers began to move again on his skin. Only now she caressed him, rubbing the sides of his feet as if she wanted to, not had to. “Please, keep her safe, Asal. Don’t let anything happen to her.”

“I have been thinking of ways to protect her.”

“You’re sure that she’s well? Truly?”

“I am.”

“Thank the Gods.”

“I have already.”

She smiled and shook her head. “How could I have hated you? When we first met…I wanted to kill you. But you’ve saved me. How shall I ever repay you?”

He watched her fingers move against his feet. “You repay me right now, my lady.”

“I can never fully repay you.”

A bird squawked in the distance, and he wondered who was spying on them. One of Po Rame’s men? Or Indravarman’s? “Because someone is watching us,” he said, “I was going to pretend to strike you. But now I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because why can’t a Cham and a Khmer be close? Why must I beat you? I’m a senior officer in our army. I have power. And though we shall have secrets between us, secrets like your sister, my affection for you is something I’ll no longer hide.”

T
he fawn moved with care, edging its way through the jungle, nibbling on green leaves. The creature’s ears seemed too large for its body, which was brown with white spots. As Jayavar aimed his arrow, he wondered where its mother was and how they had become separated.

The fawn came closer. Jayavar had hidden downwind from it and rested on one knee within a cluster of ferns. Ajadevi knelt beside him, also holding a bow, a weapon that her brother had taught her to use as a child. Like everyone in their group, she was hungry. One of their two bags of rice had been ruined by water and mold, and the group had been forced to split up to conduct hunting forays.

Jayavar applied pressure to his bowstring, ready to pull it back. The fawn’s ears twitched, but it moved toward the humans, unaware of their presence. Jayavar had never seen a fawn so close, and he marveled at its beauty. The fawn dropped its head, sniffed the ground, and stepped forward into Jayavar’s direct line of sight. He pulled his bowstring back and prepared to loose his arrow. But the fawn looked up, its large black eyes seeming to fasten onto his. The creature was young and beautiful, and suddenly he didn’t want to kill it, regardless of the pangs of his stomach.