The Archer's Heart (25 page)

Chapter 19

Y
UDAR, ALONE, SHOULDERED THE BURDEN OF FINDING THEIR
home. He believed he should be the one to suffer for their embarrassing exile. Jandu followed, asking no questions, offering no opinions. He was still too angry to speak to Yudar, too shocked by the turn of events.

Every step they took from Prasta further solidified the precariousness of their situation. In the back of Jandu’s mind, the true gravity of their situation still hadn’t set in. But as they hid from travelers and plunged deeper into the untamed countryside, the stark realties of exile became more and more apparent.

Yudar chose a spot far removed from civilization, in the foothills of the great northern Ekavi mountain range. Jandu, Baram and Suraya followed him up a trail tangled with vines past a small village. The trail was mostly used by pilgrims and ascetics to visit a remote holy retreat on the side of Mount Adri. The pilgrim’s trail wound uphill for a day and a half before it reached the retreat and a large, placid lake that was frequented by cranes.

On the opposite end of the lake, they found a small, flat clearing in the thick of the forest, where ripe and bursting foliage drooped, thick-bowed and full of fruit, over the banks of the water. On one side of their new home, Jandu could see the smooth lake surface and the mountains beyond. On the other side was a steep drop down into a gorge cloaked by verdant palms. Trees clung to the cliffs with roots stretched across the rocks like talons. Merely looking down into the valley gave Jandu vertigo.

High above them in the dense canopy of trees, there came a constant rustle of monkeys, showing off daring feats of acrobatics.

With the monsoon hot and heavy upon them, their need for permanent shelter was dire. Their clothes and the few possessions they brought immediately began to mold. Even the leather of their shoes and belts turned green and stank with the moisture of the jungle.

Yudar took the task of building their house upon himself, speaking infrequently, working all day until his arms shook with exhaustion.

“I won’t beg your forgiveness,” he said, almost proudly, “because there can be none for the sin I have committed.” He was in a mode of extreme self-flagellation, a look of serenity on his face as he tortured his body with the kind of hard labor a king was not raised to endure.

But Jandu and Baram did help him, because they were drowning in the monsoon. Their pitiful first attempts at shelters did little to keep them dry. None of them knew how to build so much as a hut, nor which materials held up best against the sultry, powerful winds. Their walls blew away or caved in during downpours, or rotted before their very eyes. It took months to finally construct two huts from bamboo and sandalwood that could bear the brunt of the oppressive, temperamental climate. They laid a roof with wood and thatched over this with wide leaves. They built the main hut large enough for two of them to sleep on the earth floor. An enclosed area to the side of the main hut formed their open-roofed kitchen. They crafted rough wooden boards into benches for sitting, and cleared an area against the back of the hut where they could view the calm waters of the lake while they ate.

The other hut was for the couple. It was smaller, just room enough for a bed and a small table constructed of sandalwood, and their small traveling chests. Baram and Suraya slept in there, while Jandu roughed it on the main hut’s floor with Yudar.

Their new home was beautifully lonely. But even with a roof over his head, Jandu was painfully aware of his own degeneration. He was accustomed to servants taking care of menial tasks, and so now, on his own, he’d brought all the wrong things. He carried his armor and weapons up the mountain, but hadn’t thought to bring a bucket. Picking banana leaves to use for plates was an all-day venture into the lush thicket. He struggled with sharpening his razors. His clothes never dried in the oppressive humidity, and when he tried to use fire to this purpose, his dejaru caught aflame.

The smell of hot, rotten feet was always around him.

Flies were everywhere, as were mosquitoes. Monkeys screamed through the trees and baboons stole their drying clothes. Worst for Jandu, the forest floor crawled with beetles. He hated beetles. And now he slept with them, worked with them, accidentally ate them. His nerves twitched with constant repulsion.

Baram made those first few months even worse. He could not bring himself to forgive Yudar for the crime of gambling away his throne and his brothers, and ceaselessly reminded Yudar of his offense. Yudar responded with a sullen calmness that he had affected shortly after the dice game, and his passivity further enraged Baram. Baram spent hours sitting beside the lake, skipping rocks, eyes raw and red with resentment.

Yudar seldom ate anything. He rarely said anything. He would just sit whispering that this wasn’t Baram’s fault, or Jandu’s fault, or Suraya’s. It was his. He had ruined them. And he was going to pay for it, he promised them.

But it was cold comfort to Jandu, who still loved his brother. Yudar’s guilt brought Jandu no pleasure since he wanted to forget the dice game ever happened. Jandu knew Yudar was not himself when dice were in his hands. A trance consumed him, pushed logic and feeling from his mind, and he acted on some alien urge to gamble regardless of consequence. It was a sickness Jandu had witnessed prior to that game, but never thought could go so far.

With their need to remain hidden foremost in their minds, Jandu and his family minimized contact with other people. They did not befriend the Draya at the nearby retreat, and avoided speaking to pilgrims on the trail. The only contact they had was in the village, and on Jandu’s first solo voyage to purchase necessities, he realized the true precariousness of even that. Every single villager stared openly at Jandu’s blue eyes. Blue eyes were a rarity even among princes; here, in the remotest corner of Marhavad, they had never been seen before. All it would take is a rumor of a blue-eyed man with scars on his arms in a remote village to bring Darvad’s henchmen.

Jandu found the costs of goods in the village appalling, especially salt, which had been commonplace in the palace but out in the wilds seemed more precious than gold. After counting the coins they brought, he realized their money would not last a season. He had to choose between an iron pot for heating water and a bag of millet. He chose the pot.

Other than the game Jandu hunted and the fruits Suraya gathered they relied on dried grain purchased in the village, and by the end of the third month, there was only a handful of rice left and no money to buy more. Jandu could do nothing but brood and watch his brothers grow thinner, soaking with sweat and rain in the monsoon heat, his proud armor tarnishing in the choking organics of the forest.

Yudar developed a cough that rattled deeply, distantly, like a faraway stranger. It kept Jandu up at night, along with the cries of baboons, the mating of tigers, the singing of peafowl, and the endless patter of insect feet.

Gradually, Jandu got better at surviving in the wild. Although he had never fetched his own meal from the palace kitchen, he could now weave his own platters in an evening. Jandu fortified and improved their hut, and they all crafted small household items for Suraya, trying to make life a little less wretched with every spoon they carved, every trap they constructed.

As always, Jandu was an impeccable hunter, although he never before had the distasteful experience of dressing a kill. Gutting a deer in the woods and carrying the bloody carcass over his shoulders for miles on end was an entirely new repugnance. Within minutes flies swarmed Jandu’s entire body, the oppressive forest heat pushing the carcass limply onto his shoulder blades. Returning home, he would desperately want to change clothes after bathing in the lake, but he only had a few choices, and his other pair of trousers was already tearing at the cuffs and stained.

On one of Jandu’s hunting trips, he found a small clearing in the forest, about fifteen minutes walk from the lake. Large camphor trees circled the clearing’s edges, and cashew nut and horse flowers hedged the cool forest floor. A faceless, waist-high stone sculpture stood sentinel in the center of the clearing. Jandu had no idea who the statue was of or who built it, but it appeared very old, time having worn its surface smooth, decades of rain washing the finer carvings into nothing but soft lines in a vague human shape.

Jandu claimed this reclusive space in the jungle as his own, and went there daily, seeking a moment’s respite from the constant haranguing of his depressed family, luxuriating in the cool shadows of the large trees. He leaned against the statue and stared up at the canopy and the thick clouds, pregnant with moisture, and succumbed to the only peace he’d felt since the dice game. Even the ever-present shrieks of forest life seemed quieter in this tranquil refuge.

But even these stolen moments of solitude did little to soothe Jandu’s burning heart. Losing Keshan amplified Jandu’s anger, turned it into pain. More than any other reason, his forced separation from his lover was the fuel that fired Jandu’s craving for vengeance. Darvad’s crooked game had pried Keshan from Jandu’s arms. And for that alone, he would pay.

◆◆◆

One day after a successful hunt, Jandu returned home with a barking deer, large enough to feed them for several days, but not so big that its meat could go bad before they could eat it all. Baram skinned and cleaned the carcass, while Jandu washed in the lake. He chased off two baboons that tried to make off with his blue dejaru, and stepped on a fire ant as he gracelessly pulled on his once-white trousers. By the time he sat down with his family to eat, he was in a terrible mood. His head ached from the heat and heartache. Keshan’s absence felt like a physical wound.

The rest of his family were in equal dispirits. Yudar’s new religious stoicism prevented him from eating meat, and so he once again went hungry. And Baram spoke, for the hundredth time, of war.

“It isn’t right for us to be sitting and rotting in a shack!” Baram cried, his fists shaking as he spoke. Suraya dodged his flailing arms as she ladled out broth and handed each of her husbands a banana leaf plate piled with roasted venison on top. Jandu noticed the rough callouses on her hands.      

“We should declare war, Yudar.” Baram pointed a finger at his older brother. “It is the Triya thing to do.”

“We must serve out this penance,” Yudar said calmly. He sipped at his broth, refusing the venison. “Only after we fulfill the agreed-upon conditions of the dice game can we ask for our half of the kingdom back. If Darvad refuses us, then we may discuss war.”

“We have few allies now,” Suraya commented.

Jandu didn’t understand how Yudar could refuse the venison. He stuffed his mouth with the sweet, hot flesh, feeling his bones strengthen with the direly needed food. The meat sat rich and warm in his stomach, radiating energy through his limbs.

“I don’t care,” Baram sulked. “I’d rather lose a war that is justified than languish here in the wilderness.”

Suraya sighed. “Your brother made a promise.” Suraya had a habit now of not addressing Yudar directly. “We must honor that promise.”

“The game was rigged.” Baram repeated the sentence like a mantra. He said it every day, dozens of times a day, staring into space, feeding his own fury. “The game was rigged.”

Jandu widened his eyes in mock-surprise. “The game was rigged? You don’t say!”

“Don’t, Jandu,” Yudar said quietly.

“Tell me more, Baram! I had no idea.” Jandu threw his banana leaf into the fire.

“We will get our vengeance, Baram,” Yudar told Baram. “Just be patient.”

“Patience!” Baram shook his head and stomped into the hut.

Jandu looked at Baram’s half-finished plate, and reached over to steal some of his venison. Suraya slapped his hand away.

“Bad,” she said. She smirked at him.

Jandu took a smaller piece, putting it on Yudar’s plate.

“Yudar, you must eat something,” Jandu said.

Yudar smiled sweetly. “I had broth. It was delicious, Suraya.”

“You’re skin and bones,” Jandu said.

“Nonsense. I still walk for miles every day.”

Jandu looked to Suraya for help, but she wasn’t yet willing to forgive Yudar either. She barely acknowledged Yudar’s presence. Now she sat down beside Jandu and started her own meal.

Jandu sighed, and then put the piece of venison back on Baram’s plate. He knew Baram would be back later to eat what was left behind. Baram used to consume three or four meals for every one Jandu had. Baram’s chronic hunger aggravated his surly disposition.

Jandu helped Suraya clear up after dinner. Afterwards, as Yudar read his holy scrolls in the fading light, Jandu searched for Baram.

He found his brother by the lakeside, skipping rocks. The sun set over the jungle, lending the air a magical pinkish glow. It reminded Jandu of Keshan’s Yashva home.

 Waves gently massaged the small circular pebbles of the bank with a quiet hiss. Jandu squatted beside his brother, chewing on a blade of grass like Keshan used to. Even that small gesture seemed to bring Keshan closer to him.

“Are you all right?” Jandu asked Baram.

Baram didn’t look at him. He kept throwing stones. “You know I’m not mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I just… I can’t let it go.”

“Then don’t,” Jandu said. “But keep it to yourself.” He sighed. “We have to be here for three years. Don’t make every dinner a nightmare. Please, if only for Suraya’s sake.”

Baram dropped the stones in his left hand. “I won’t pretend, Jandu. I won’t act like everything is fine when it isn’t. We’re starving and poor and miserable.”

“I know that!” Jandu swallowed to control his own anger.

“It’s Yudar’s fault for landing us here, and Darvad’s fault for his trickery.”

“Reminding him of it every five seconds will not change anything.”

“I’m not going to pretend like this isn’t the nightmare it is.”

“Then stop sulking and do something with your anger,” Jandu said. “Hunt. Build. Stab fish. Whatever. Just do something.”

Baram suddenly whirled and threw a rock into the overgrowth behind them.