Temple of a Thousand Faces (50 page)

Boran let go of her hands. He reached up to rub his aching neck. “They say that we’ll leave in two or three days,” he said, looking down. “Are you telling me that in such a short time all of my loved ones may be dead?”

“I’m telling you only what I must.”

“Right now…the world seems to be a bitter place.”

She leaned forward, putting her arms around him, holding him tight. “Yes, but if we win, then it will be such a beautiful place. So win, Boran. Keep Vibol safe and win.”

He rested his head against her shoulder. “Our sons need to see our strength. But right now, I don’t feel strong. I feel lost. And I miss our old life. I want to be on the water with them, with you.”

“I know. So do I. But you’re strong, Boran. That’s why I’ve looked for you to lead us. Because you’ve always been strong.”

“As have you.”

“No. Not at the beginning. Not when the Chams first came. I was weak. Very weak. But lately I’ve tried in my own way to help. I’m sorry that I haven’t done more for you. I haven’t been strong for you.”

“Why do you say that? You sit here and tell me that you’re willing to take poison, that you’d rather face our foe than flee. You mend my old nets without complaint, cure my aches when you have so many of your own. You couldn’t do what you’ve always done without being strong.”

She closed her eyes, disbelieving his words but glad to hear them. “If I may ask…what is your decision?”

“About coming with me? You ask as if I control you. You’re like a deep river, Soriya, smooth on the surface but swirling underneath. I’d rather you stay, but if you must go, if Prak must go, then I won’t stop you.”

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, his gaze drifting to a bouquet of irises that she had fashioned in the corner. “The Gods…seem so cruel. Because we’ve built so much, you and I. And in a matter of days…it could all be lost.”

“I know. But if our sons are to live as men, we have to stay. Isn’t that what we both believe?”

He nodded.

She brought his bandaged forefinger to her lips and kissed it—something she hadn’t done for many years. Suddenly their youth seemed so very distant. Her memories were still crisp and
plentiful, but at that moment they weren’t enough. She yearned for the freedom to claim the future. She needed the promise of blissful sights and sounds that she had yet to discover.

If she must, she would take the poison. She would give it to Prak. But she would have to die first. Because regardless of what Boran had said, she wasn’t strong enough to watch her son perish. Her child, who had brought her so much joy, whom she loved far more than herself, would have to die alone.

A
s they neared the Citadel of Women, Voisanne grew increasingly nervous. She was excited at the prospect of seeing her people once again, but she was worried about how Asal would be treated. She trusted him with her life and she had grown to love him, and yet her countrymen would see only a Cham warrior who must be vanquished. Surely they were eager for vengeance, and Asal might prove to be an irresistible target.

Sitting behind her sister on the horse, Voisanne let her gaze follow the trail ahead and then drifted back to Asal’s broad shoulders. Sweat glistened on his skin, and once again, she asked to exchange positions. He politely declined, saying that the jungle was unsafe and that he should remain on the ground.

I’ll protect him, she thought, as Chaya jested about a butterfly that seemed to follow them. He’s always protected me, and soon it will be my turn to stand in front of him.

The trunks of immense trees came and went, different in hues and textures. Despite the great canopies, the trail seemed to brighten, perhaps due to the absence of smaller trees and shrubs. Voisanne thought she smelled smoke. An elephant’s trumpet seemed to reverberate around her.

The jungle vegetation continued to thin out as they proceeded. Asal unsheathed his sword, using his injured hand to pull
their horse’s lead rope. Gaps in the foliage appeared ahead of them. Light streamed in their direction.

Banteay Srei first appeared as if it were a miniature Angkor Wat, its sculpted towers rising skyward in the clearing. Shouts erupted, and Asal dropped his sword, then knelt on the ground. As Khmer warriors rushed forward, Voisanne leapt from the horse, calling out that they came as friends. She was ignored, and the warriors confronted Asal, demanding to know his intentions. He bowed, but stayed silent, as his accent would betray his origins. Sensing danger, the Khmers fanned out around him, their weapons held ready. Voisanne stepped in front of Asal, shielding him from their spears and swords with her own body. The weapons flicked at her, but she did not retreat.

“I know the king!” she shouted, stepping ahead toward the glistening blades. “And I demand to see him!”

Though she exaggerated, the warriors became uncertain, their weapons wavering. “Why bring a Cham into our midst?” asked a thin man who held a heavy silver horn that he looked ready to blow.

“He comes as our ally,” Voisanne replied, still holding her hands up. “And he has information for our king.”

The Khmer frowned but seemed to relax. “Bind him,” he said.

Voisanne started to protest, but Asal told her that they had a right to bind him, that he would do the same if their positions were reversed. Men came forward with ropes and tied his hands behind his back. He winced when they jostled his injured fingers, and Voisanne pleaded with them to be careful. She thought that they would listen to her, but then their leader lifted his silver horn and slammed it down hard on Asal’s head. She screamed as he crumpled, screamed as the men wrapped rope around her hands and also reached for Chaya.

One of her countrymen cuffed her, yet the blow didn’t silence
her protests. She struggled and fought, terrified by what they might do to Asal, clawing and biting and kicking even as hands encircled her neck.

Fingers pressed against her throat and still she raged. But then she could no longer breathe.

Darkness approached, lingered, and then, after what seemed an eternity of suffering, was replaced by light.

Someone picked her up. She tried to call out to Asal, to Chaya, but her voice seemed to be trapped within her. She made no sound as she was carried away.

T
hrough the haze of Asal’s pain and disorientation, the world came slowly into focus. He was outside in a courtyard, which seemed to be raised off the ground. Immediately before him a tower stretched upward, graced by carvings of dancing women. To his left a sandstone walkway, the same height as the courtyard, was supported by pillars and led to the tower. The ground below was dominated by a garden and a pond covered in lotus flowers.

He lay with his hands tied in front of him inside a circle of seated Khmer warriors. A woman was talking—Voisanne. To his surprise and gratitude she no longer shouted but spoke firmly and with confidence to the obvious leader of the group. Asal had never seen the Khmer king but the man must be Jayavar. She bowed her head when answering him, and though he wore no jewels, the men near him were deferential toward him.

Remembering his own necklace, Asal was relieved to see that Voisanne’s gift still lay against his chest. He sat up slowly, clenching his jaws at the pain that movement brought. As he stirred, Voisanne started to rise and call out to him, but the king placed a hand on her shoulder and she grew still.

At first no one spoke. Asal gazed at Voisanne, saw how she nodded to him, and he relaxed against his bonds. Outside the circle of Khmers, fires burned, cloaked within structures of wood and stone. Though the canopies of nearby trees were dark, their trunks were partly illuminated by the flames. Bats wheeled about in the underbelly of the sky, chasing unseen insects.

Asal counted eight Khmers plus Voisanne and Chaya. Neither sister was bound. The moon was out, prompting Asal to wonder how long he’d been unconscious. A fair amount of time must have passed, he realized, because the wound on his head had been bandaged and blood had dried against his skin. He was also hungry.

“I am Jayavar,” the king said, nodding. “Tonight I’ve been told an unlikely story by the woman beside me. I would like you to repeat that story. Repeat it and we shall talk. Tell me a different tale and I shall consider you a spy.”

Asal understood that he was being tested. He bowed his head, introduced himself, explained his position in the Cham army and his relationship with Indravarman. Then he told the story of how he had come to know Voisanne. He did not mention his feelings for her, but he spoke at length of how he had tried to help her flee and how Indravarman had captured him. His explanation of his escape provoked a series of questions from the king, who seemed to deem this part of his story improbable.

“I’ve seen your fingers,” Jayavar replied after silence fell. “But one could inflict such damage on one’s own flesh. And one could ride here pretending to be Indravarman’s foe when actually acting as his instrument.”

Asal nodded. “Yes, Lord King. I could be that instrument.”

“But you could also be his foe. To that end, why would you betray your people?”

“I would not—I do not betray my people,” Asal replied. “I betray Indravarman, Lord King. I betray him and him only.”

“Tell me why. Because my spies say that he’s not someone who should be betrayed lightly.”

“Your spies speak the truth.”

“Then why would you cross him?”

A nearby fire crackled. Cicadas chirped. Asal thought about his response, wanting to honor Voisanne. “I met a lady, Lord King. And this lady needed to be freed. She was in danger.”

“You betrayed your king for love?”

“For a lady, Lord King.”

“And you commanded men?”

“Many.”

“These men you left behind—you deserted them?”

Asal stiffened at the king’s choice of words. “I led my men to many victories. I cared for them. But, yes, I left them. Indravarman forced me to choose between duty and…and this lady. I chose her. And if any man thinks me a coward for making that choice, he does so at his own risk.”

“I would think that at my own risk?”

“Yes, Lord King. I’m afraid so.”

Though the Khmers around him muttered and reached for the hilts of their swords, a smile spread across Jayavar’s face. “Your honesty impresses me. Tell me, what will Indravarman do?”

Asal had suspected that he would be asked such a question and he had his answer ready. “He’s cautious, Lord King. He won’t commit his men to battle unless he’s sure of victory. And so he’ll wait for reinforcements.”

“When will they arrive? And how many?”

“Three thousand men will land in five days. They’ll come across the Great Lake, arriving at our base on its shore.”

“And how many warriors will he then have?”

“Nearly seventeen thousand, Lord King.”

Jayavar offered no response. Cicadas’ cries and the swooshing of bat wings dominated the night.

Asal knew that to ensure his future with Voisanne he needed to help the Khmer king. A gift must be offered and delivered. He bowed once again. “Indravarman is strong, Lord King. Do not underestimate him. He’s strong and his men are well trained. But he has killed his rivals, and if he were to fall, the Cham army would be leaderless. His anointed successor is feeble and back in our homeland.”

“So if he fell, your army—at least your army here—would be a snake with no head?”

“Kill Indravarman, Lord King, and his men will have no heart. The day will be yours.”

Jayavar nodded, then glanced at Voisanne. He appeared to study her before whispering into her ear. She bowed, nodding repeatedly. Asal had a sudden urge to reach out to her, but he forced himself to remain still.

“I would like to share an idea with you,” Jayavar said, “and to hear you assess it. But if I do so, you shall remain bound and guarded until the fight is over. Is this agreeable?”

“I offer my services, Lord King, because if Indravarman wins, I lose.”

“Please call me ‘my lord.’ Formality isn’t needed so deep in the jungle.”

“Yes…my lord.”

“Soon I shall attack his base on the Great Lake, destroy his force there, and then, with my men dressed as Chams, will sail to meet the approaching ships. I have been warned of these reinforcements by my spies, who echo your words. The three thousand warriors the ships carry will think we are their comrades, and we shall surprise them, rout them, and return to shore. When
we finally march to Angkor, Indravarman’s force will have been greatly weakened. We will approach Angkor, seize the elephants kept near the city, and crush the remaining Chams.”

Asal closed his eyes, imagining the confrontations. “You’ll fight three small battles instead of one.”

“Yes.”

“And by doing so, you’ll overcome the advantage of his numbers.”

“If all goes according to plan.”

Opening his eyes, Asal considered the risks. “You’ll be most vulnerable, my lord, in the boats.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because if something goes wrong, your entire force will be trapped and annihilated.”

“And if you were my man, Asal, what would you have me do?”

Asal recognized the fierceness of Jayavar’s stare. He acknowledged it, nodding. “I’d use fire arrows, my lord,” he answered, a part of him still reluctant to participate in the death of his countrymen. “Your enemy’s boats will be filled with warriors, but also with supplies—horses and hay and weapons. Light the boats on fire and panic will ensue.”

Jayavar smiled again. “I had this same thought, Asal. I’m glad that it also came to you. Know that if we win, and if your words prove to be truthful, you shall be freed. You may return north to your people, or stay with ours.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“And know that I don’t think you a coward for what you have done. I’ve also been blessed to know the embrace of love, and know that its power is unrivaled.” Jayavar stood up, then stepped outside the circle.

The fire crackled. A Khmer warrior approached Asal. But
Voisanne asked if she could speak to him alone, just for a moment. After a pause, the man nodded, and as he stepped away, she came forward, embracing Asal. Her body pressed against his, she whispered that everything would be fine, promising that she would care for him, as he had for her, saying that they would always be together.