The Archer's Heart (17 page)

“No, don’t bother,” Keshan said. He stretched his arms, and looked meaningfully at Jandu. “I came to see if Jandu would run an errand with me.”

“I can accompany you,” Ajani said quickly.

“No.” Keshan leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. “It is in a dangerous part of town, I would not dare take you there.”

“I’m all yours,” Jandu said, standing quickly. Anticipation already pinked Jandu’s cheeks. “Shall we go?”

Keshan looked to him, and realized Jandu was going to be disappointed. He really did have an errand, one Keshan hoped would be enlightening for his new lover. But as Jandu moved to stand beside him, Keshan could almost smell the sex upon him, and Keshan’s mind whirled.

Maybe a quick delay wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

They beelined for the storage shed once more.

◆◆◆

“Not that I don’t find your company charming, but where exactly are we going?”

Keshan strode alongside Jandu through the winding dusty streets of the leather market. Jandu was chatty enough in the chariot to the edge of the bazaar, but once they got out and started walking the narrow streets of the poorer neighborhoods on foot, Jandu’s tension increased and he grew silent.

“I wanted to show you something,” Keshan explained.

Untouchables of the Jegora caste huddled in doorways as Chaya caste merchants hawked leather shoes, bags, belts, and scabbards. The hot afternoon heat intensified the smell of freshly tanned hide and masked the stench of raw sewage. Wetted hay covered the dusty roads but did little to stop the persistent clouds of dirt that filled the air from so many bodies walking and pushing carts.

They passed by monkeys copulating and temple bells ringing and men sleeping in their carts, occasionally twitching to swat flies from their faces. In the distance, a squeaky stringed instrument called out to travelers, and a small boy was learning to play the pipe flute down the road.

At first, the crowd parted before them, dressed as they were in their silks and wearing their diadems, but then others began to converge and beg for money. Jandu went silent. Only when one holy man offered to lift fifty pounds of stones with his penis for a donation did Jandu laugh and make a contribution.

The streets narrowed further. They passed palm readers, cows, astrologers, statues of the prophets stained with purple dye. As they crossed through a crowded intersection, the noise of chimes and chants and cocks and children and hawkers accompanied their journey. Keshan smelled horrible things, glorious things.

They reached an open square. In the center of the circle stood a pillory. It looked almost innocent in the daylight, although close observation revealed nails and blood stains. Jandu frowned at it and asked what it was.

“It’s a pillory,” Keshan said. “Untouchables are forced into it and their ears are nailed to the boards while people hurl garbage and feces at them. It’s lawful punishment if their shadow accidentally falls upon a Suya caste member.”

Jandu grimaced. “How disgusting.”

Keshan shrugged. “Better than if their shadow should fall on us. They could be executed.”

“If I were Jegora I’d move out of the city,” Jandu said. “Too many hazards walking around Prasta.”

It was the first time Keshan ever heard Jandu speculate what it would be like to be lower class, and the thought offered him a little hope.

“Of course,” Jandu continued, “I’d probably want to be as far away from other people as possible, if I looked as hideous as a Jegora.”

Keshan’s heart sank.

Jandu always did this. He would say something meaningful, considerate, and then immediately follow it up with some insult, almost like an afterthought. Keshan doubted Jandu even noticed it.

Jandu suddenly stopped Keshan, holding his arm. “You didn’t take me all the way out here to teach me a lesson about untouchables, did you?”

“Maybe.” He smiled, hoping Jandu’s mood would lighten.

Jandu stepped in a pile of cow manure. He swore and kicked his sandal free. Now he definitely was in a foul mood.

“Well, make it quick,” he grumbled. “This street is revolting.”

“It’s just poor.”

“Poor, revolting, whatever you want to call it.”

Keshan sighed. A woman approached them, eyes following her feet, and as soon as she looked up and saw them, she hastily crossed the street. Jandu stared at her branded hands, the symbol of the Jegora red and puffy, burned into her flesh.

“God,” he whispered. “She’s…”

“An outcaste,” Keshan finished for him. “Once a Triya, now untouchable.”

“I wonder what she did to deserve this kind of life.” Jandu said. “It must have been horrible.”

At a low, arched wooden door, Keshan knocked. The door promptly swung open, the hinges creaking loudly. “Lord Keshan! Come in! Come in!”

“Greetings, Tamarus!” Keshan called back. He turned and saw that Jandu watched the outcaste woman retreat down a narrow alley. His expression was grim. His frown only deepened when he looked at Tamarus.

“You cannot tell Yudar I came here,” Jandu whispered.

“I’ll add it to the list of things I’m never telling Yudar,” Keshan said. He smiled warmly at Tamarus as he led Jandu into the courtyard.

Keshan’s old friend Tamarus wore a magnificent white beard. The man was close to sixty, but his eyes still shone as bright and cheerful as they had when Keshan was a young boy.

Keshan entered the house and Tamarus immediately knelt at his feet, blessing Keshan.

“Welcome! Thank you for coming! Welcome!”

Jandu scowled as he stepped into the inner courtyard, which consisted of a shallow fire pit, densely packed soil, and half a dozen chickens, which aggressively flocked to Jandu’s sandals and started clucking.

 “Jandu, I want you to meet an old friend of mine, Tamarus Arundan. Tamarus, this is Prince Jandu Paran.” Keshan smiled encouragingly at Jandu.

Jandu seemed at a loss as to what to do. It was against tradition for a Triya to have to bow to someone obviously of low upbringing. But he was a guest in Tamarus’ home. Jandu fidgeted, and then gave a small, curt bow of his head. Keshan smiled wider. He had to give Jandu credit for trying.

Tamarus, at least, could be counted on to revel in his good fortune. He groveled at Jandu’s feet, tears in his eyes, praising God for the honor of having one of God’s chosen royals in his humble abode. This attracted a gaggle of children to the doorway, whose open stares only seemed to make Jandu more uncomfortable. Jandu looked to Keshan for help.

“We don’t have much time,” Keshan informed Tamarus. “Let me see her immediately.”

“Of course! So sorry! So sorry!” Tamarus bounced off the ground, despite his age, and rushed ahead of them to the only other doorway in the courtyard. “She’s in here.”

“What are we
doing
here?” Jandu hissed in Keshan’s ear.

“Tamarus is one of the Chaya’s most beloved religious scholars. He once helped me craft some legislation in Tiwari. But now his wife is sick, and he asked me to come and see if my Yashva healing would assist her.”

Jandu sighed. “Fine. Hurry. For God’s sake.”

Keshan stepped inside the small room, but Jandu did not follow.

“Are you coming?”

“I’ll wait out here.”

“I could teach you the sharta,” Keshan said.

This got Jandu’s interest. His scowl diminished slightly.

“Oh?”

Tamarus knelt beside his wife’s narrow cot. The low ceiling forced Keshan to kneel as well. The ground was clean and dry, but the walls were stained black with years of soot from cooking fires.

Jandu knelt beside Keshan on the floor.

Keshan reached out for Tamarus’ wife’s hand. He did not know the woman well, had only seen her a few times. But it was clear to see she was dying. Her face was ashen, her skin dull and unresponsive to the touch.

“How long has she been like this?” Keshan asked softly.

Tamarus reached out and stroked her hair. “Since Asherwar. The local healer removed a growth from her stomach, but she has been sickly ever since, and the wound has festered.”

Keshan gently lowered the blanket and lifted the woman’s thin cotton dress. The sight of the tumor was ghastly. Portions of the flesh had died and turned black.

Jandu gagged beside him. “God!” His face drained of color, but he did not turn away.

Keshan covered her up once more. He frowned at Tamarus.

“It may be too late for my help, friend.”

“Anything you can do, Lord Adaru. Please!”

“Take her to a physician, for God’s sake!” Jandu cried out.

“Physicians don’t treat Chaya, Jandu. They have only their own priests and healers to help them.” Keshan rubbed his palms together to warm them, and then placed them on either side of the woman’s wound. He could feel Jandu tense beside him at the impure contact.

Keshan began speaking, chanting a low string of Yashva words, saying them slowly enough that Jandu would hear them and be able to repeat them. As he had hoped, Jandu rallied to the task.

Keshan repeated the words and then asked Jandu to chant with him. Jandu spoke lowly, saying the words with Keshan. He was an astonishingly fast learner. In three tries Jandu memorized the complex string of sounds, and Keshan could feel the power building behind them like wind, sucking from the Yashva kingdom and breaking the barriers of the worlds to surge through Jandu’s mouth.

Keshan let go of the woman and held Jandu’s hands. He tried placing them on the woman’s side but Jandu immediately flinched and pulled back.

“What? No!” Jandu’s hands curled into fists at his chest.

“The words won’t work unless you touch her,” Keshan said calmly, although the vehemence in Jandu’s reaction had startled him.

Jandu hesitated, looking at the woman, and then back at Keshan. He shook his head. “No. I can’t touch her. It’s… it’s wrong.”

“Then leave,” Keshan said in sudden anger. “You are no use to me here.”

Jandu stood and left the room.

Keshan stifled his rage and placed his hands back on Tamarus’ wife, uttering the sharta, fast and with concentration. Frost burnt his tongue and the words themselves drifted out of his mouth in icy mists. He blew them on her wound, where they melted and settled like dew.

Keshan instructed Tamarus on how to cleanse the wound, and what herbs to give his wife. He promised to return in a week to see if the spell had lessened the infection. He worried it was too late to do her any real good, but at least it would ease her pain, as all Yashva cures did.

When Keshan stepped back out into the courtyard, he saw that Jandu had fled. He could be such a close-minded, selfish bastard. Keshan had been wrong to hope Jandu could be taught to care.

As he walked home alone, Keshan finally faced facts.

This affair with Jandu had to end.

His hope of turning Jandu into a compassionate revolutionary was revealing itself to be a fantasy. What had he been thinking? Jandu was a Paran. Like his brothers, like his father. He was descended from a long line of men who abhorred equality, and revered only the laws as laid down by their own ancestors, the crusty prophets of yore.

Keshan had worked for the last ten years of his life towards this moment, towards seeing a king enthroned who would abolish slavery to religious traditions. He did not need Jandu for any of that.

Was he really going to abandon all of this for a good lay? Absolutely not.

Over the following days, Keshan distanced himself from Jandu. He attended Darvad along with the other lords who supported the Uru claim to the throne.

Keshan pretended that his brother’s absence was normal. He pretended that Jandu did not matter.

And yet, despite his resolve to end the affair, Keshan sought Jandu’s face whenever he entered a crowded room. He plunged himself deeper into reviewing the new laws that Yudar had established in his tenure as Royal Judge, but the additional work did little to relieve the aching hunger in his body. He wanted to hear Jandu. Touch him. Smell him. He missed Jandu’s sense of humor, his fascination with unimportant things. To his shame, he found himself even missing Jandu’s bragging.

Keshan excused himself from one of Darvad’s casual dinners that evening, hoping to cleanse his mind with meditation and fasting. He sent Iyestar in his stead, hoping that whatever rifted his brother and Darvad apart could be repaired over a good meal. But when Iyestar returned to their townhouse, his expression was dark and dangerous.

“We’re leaving.” Iyestar stated. He ordered the servants to start packing immediately.

They had spent so much time in the capital city, the Tiwari townhouse now felt like home. Keshan looked around the rooms he had lived in over the past few months, saddened to even consider leaving them.

“Dress. Now.” Iyestar’s voice slurred.

“You’re drunk.”

“Surprise.” Iyestar faced Keshan. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes! But why? Why now?”

“I have made my decision.” Iyestar moved to the side table and poured himself another glass of wine. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Yes you do.” Keshan grabbed the wine cup from his brother’s hand and slammed it on the table. “I have worked too hard over the last few months to let you randomly choose this moment to pull me out of the action!“

“We will not stay in this cursed city a moment longer.”

Keshan bit back his angry response. It was just like his elder brother to make executive decisions without consulting Keshan first.

“What has happened?”

“Over dinner, Firdaus and I exchanged words. We’re leaving.” Iyestar grabbed his wine once more and finished it.

“Firdaus is nothing. No one.”

“He has Darvad’s ear,” Iyestar said. “And he suspects you.”

Keshan stiffened. “I have not changed my allegiance. I am still loyal to Darvad. What—”

“He suspects you and Jandu! Good God, did you think no one would notice? Your eyes practically glaze over when Jandu enters the room! Are you seriously going to dog that Paran prick around simply because he has a tight ass?”

Keshan froze, shocked. His brother had to have a lot to drink before he would ever openly discuss Keshan’s sexual preferences. It was no secret between them, rather a sore topic reserved only for conflicts.