The Archer's Heart (36 page)

“I had pretty handmaidens in Prasta,” Suraya said. “Remember Ami? And Kera? She was gorgeous.”

“I never saw them,” Yudar said. He looked into Suraya’s eyes. “Every other woman seemed plain to me once I met you.”

Baram poked at the fire with a stick.

“What about you, Yudar?” Suraya asked. “What will your name be?”

Yudar shrugged. “I’ll go by the name Esalas.”

“Esalas?” Baram raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t he the kid that used to come around and sell us toys in Prasta?”

Yudar nodded.

“I remember him,” Baram said. “He once sold you a set of dice that were painted, not carved. Remember? The numbers rubbed off the first week you had them.”

Yudar smiled. “He was smart.”

“He was a con,” Baram said.

“I liked him,” Yudar said. “So I’ll name myself Esalas. Maybe I can offer my services as a dice instructor.”

Jandu’s stomach churned, but he didn’t say anything. He hated the idea of Yudar near dice. But he had to remind himself that Yudar played dice his entire life and had never gotten them in trouble until the match with Darvad. And he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Yudar’s voice was very soft as he spoke. “Since Jandu will be a woman, then perhaps you should be my wife, Suraya. Your year with Jandu is almost over anyway.”

Jandu watched Baram for a reaction. Baram shredded his banana leaf plate silently.

“Who will you be, Baram?” Suraya asked. Jandu saw her pleading with him.   

“I don’t know,” he snapped.

“Maybe you could cook?” Suraya suggested. “It’s something you enjoy doing.”

“And you’re good at it,” Yudar added.

They all were trying so hard, Jandu realized. It was pitiful.

Baram sighed. “Okay, then I’ll be Bodan, the cook.”

“Can’t get beyond ‘B’, huh?” Jandu said. He winced at the high pitch of his voice. He looked around the fire, daring his family to comment, but Yudar only asked what name Jandu preferred to use.

“Who cares?” Jandu took out his knife and worked on smoothing an arrow shaft.

Baram smirked. “Your name will be Janali.”

Jandu shook his head. “That’s an ugly name.”

“Well, you’re going to be an ugly girl,” Baram said. “Janali sounds like a girl version of Jandu.”

“So do a lot of names,” Jandu said.

“Janali sounds exotic.” Baram touched Jandu’s shoulder softly. “I could love a woman named Janali.”

Jandu shrugged off Baram’s hand and his laughter. He stabbed the sharpened end of the stick he just whittled into the earth over and over, as if this would somehow prove his manliness. He realized this was just the beginning of the humiliation yet to come.

“God,” he said, impaling soil, “I’m really, really going to hate Afadi.”

◆◆◆

By morning, Jandu realized he could not get out from under his blanket without causing a ruckus. He wrapped his harafa around him tightly and quietly shook Suraya awake. He whispered in her ear that he needed to borrow a zahari, or at least a zahari top.

And by the end of the week, his penis was gone, replaced by strange folds of skin that looked alien to him, scary and unfamiliar. By the time they crossed the Patari River and entered the State of Afadi, it was all over. Jandu was a woman. He looked, smelled, and talked like a tiny young lady, with large blue eyes and curling black lashes.

Afadi was drier than Jandu had imagined, and as they made their way towards the city, Jandu noticed that the surrounding pastureland seemed desiccated, even in the midst of the monsoon season. The older parts of town nestled closely with the tiled domes of the palace inside the thick white walls of the city, but newer residences popped from the earth like brown mushrooms along the river banks.

The rest of the state was filled with hundreds of herds of prized Afadi cattle. The cows were beautifully adorned, their horns painted red, bells and tassels hung around their necks. The cattle were the state’s greatest wealth, coveted throughout Marhavad as the finest dairy-producing stock and sought after for their hardy natures. Jandu and his brothers made their way through endless herds of cattle, winding their way along well-trod paths towards the trailing line of the city.

At the river’s edge, there was a large gated mansion, and a small cemetery down the road. Yudar stopped their horse and unfolded the large deerskin he had been saving for this moment.

“We should hide our weapons here.”

Baram and Yudar took off their swords and placed them in the deerskin along with their armor, shields, spears, knives, and other weapons. Jandu reluctantly contributed his inexhaustible quiver after Yudar informed him that he could not just pretend it was a lady’s handbag. At least he was able to keep Zandi with him. Still, anxiety tore at Jandu when Suraya sewed the deerskin shut.

In the ancient Afadi tradition, someone had hung a corpse on one of the Sami trees surrounding the cemetery. The smell was unbelievably foul. Baram grimaced as he hefted the heavy leather bag over his shoulder and climbed the tree. He placed the bag between two strong branches that wouldn’t break, and made sure it was sheltered enough so that rain would not penetrate it.

“If someone can get past that stench to get my armor, they deserve to keep it,” Baram cried.

At the city gates, Baram and Jandu waited with the horse and cart while Suraya and Yudar made their way to Lord Indarel Lokesh’s palace. After the lord accepted their offers of service as a hand-maiden and dice teacher, Yudar sent a messenger to his “sister” Janali and “cousin” Bodan, and Jandu and Baram entered the palace a day later.

Jandu hooked his arm in his towering older brother’s, and took a deep breath to steady his resolve.

“Let’s hope Keshan taught me enough on the flute to be passable as a music teacher,” Jandu said.

Baram reached down and pinched Jandu’s cheek fondly. “I’m sure they’ll hire you, even if you can’t play a note. You’re so cute, Indarel will want to eat you.”

Jandu narrowed his eyes.

Baram led the way through the gate. “But you are still my little sister, so I’ll be there to protect you.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Jandu mumbled.

“I’m just trying to make light of a dark situation,” Baram said.

“Yeah, well, I get my muscles back in one year, fucker. Don’t forget it.”

Chapter 29

T
AREK SURVEYED THE CARNAGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD.

Corpses lay scattered across the barren Marshav plain like giant leaves, their bodies puffing in the monsoon heat, the smell overpowering the sweetness from the blooming camphor.

Over five hundred men from Marshav died after their failed attempt to rebel against King Darvad. Darvad and Tarek had arrived two days earlier, heavily armed and accompanied by both Dragewan and royal soldiers. The battle had been bloody and quick, Marshav’s unskilled army no match for Dragewan’s well-trained military. Tarek and Darvad fought in chariots along with Darvad’s general and three other commanders, cutting large swathes of dead as they galloped the muddy fields surrounding the city. Tarek’s arrows rarely missed. Inspired by his performance, Dragewan’s archers led the attack, killing half of the insurgents before the foot soldiers even had a chance to enter the melee.

Tarek’s blood sang with the battle.

The only disappointment came in the fact that they had not captured Lord Kadal himself, since Kadal had fled once the battle turned to favor the King. Darvad’s spies reported seeing him flee to the State of Jezza, where Lord Sahdin was a close ally.

Tarek had never before fought beside Darvad, and the experience was glorious. If Tarek ever had any doubt about who he was, what he was made for, it was gone now. He was meant to fight, beside Darvad. The two of them worked like an expert team of horses, understanding each other’s intent as they led charges against the rebels. Darvad’s general oversaw the dirty task of cleaning up the mess, allowing Tarek time to relax and revel in his high spirits.

Tarek and Darvad were now bound together by friendship and by war. They retold their triumphs, vibrating with pride, each thrust and fired arrow recounted in grand detail.

Drunk with victory, Darvad quickly decided to lead the victorious army north into Jezza itself. They would hunt down Kadal, and punish Jezza for harboring a traitor to the throne. Tarek eagerly embraced the idea, looking forward to another opportunity to trounce Lord Sahdin for his insults years ago.

That evening, Tarek and Darvad played dice and drank wine in Darvad’s tent. A gentle hum radiated through Tarek’s bones. He realized it was pure, unadulterated happiness. They sat around the board, moving game pieces and reliving their recent exploits, when Darvad grew unusually quiet.

“What are you thinking about?” Tarek asked. He sipped his wine slowly, not wanting to get too drunk too fast. He realized he enjoyed the pleasures of wine too much these days.

“There’s another reason I think this invasion is a good idea,” Darvad said.

“Oh?” Tarek didn’t need any more reasons. Fighting beside Darvad was enough.

Darvad’s eyes had a wet sheen. “Do you remember Sahdin’s daughter Aisa?”

Tarek frowned. “I don’t think so. Have I met her?”

“She came to Mazar’s birthday party with her father.” Darvad’s expression turned dreamy. “Tarek, you have not seen beauty until you have seen Aisa. She is like liquid fire. Her skin glows, she has large doe eyes, and her bosom…” Darvad sucked air through his teeth.

Tarek rolled his dice. He moved his piece across the board.

“I want her,” Darvad stated. “I want her as my prize.”

“The women should not be harmed in the invasion,” Tarek said stiffly. “I don’t want that kind of war.”

Darvad threw down his dice. “I’m not going to just rape her,” he spat. “Good lord, Tarek. This girl means a lot to me. I’ve fantasized about her for years.” Darvad studied his dice, and growled as he threw them back in his cup with disgust.

“Are you going to marry her?” Tarek asked incredulously.

Darvad shrugged. “Why not? It is the traditional Triya way to find a bride. Invade and carry her off.” He poured them both more wine. “It will honor her. She will be Queen of Marhavad. It is a position all women of Marhavad crave.”

Tarek studied the palms of his hands to cool his furious heart. Jealousy, white hot and piercing, twisted in his throat and lungs. It wasn’t as though Tarek never imagined his love would be tried like this some day. But he didn’t want to deal with it now. Not now. Not when his own happiness seemed so fragile.

“So,” Darvad said, obviously noticing Tarek’s icy silence, “can I rely on your help to keep the men away from her until I can claim her?”

“I will do what I can,” Tarek said. He threw down his dice, and won the game. Darvad shook his head in disgust, but Tarek felt no victory that evening.

◆◆◆

The following morning, as Darvad prepared to move the army, Tarek made rounds among his men, speaking with the commanders of each unit. Tarek felt the power he held as lord as if for the first time. To these men, he was no longer just a ruler forced upon them by the will of mighty Prasta, or the Royal Judge. He was a hero. They watched him walk through their ranks and they bowed low, pride burning in their eyes, their stances assured.

Tarek spoke quietly with his commanders, inquiring about the health of his men, their families. He never vented his anger or seemed anything other than assured in the company of his commanders. It was something he learned from his father, a master horseman who believed that quiet strength was more impressive and effective than rowdy bravado.

Tarek caught Anant’s eye towards the end of the formation. Anant looked away hastily, and then ordered his men together to form a tighter rank. Tarek had only seen a glimpse of Anant’s battle techniques in Marshav, but what he had seen was impressive. What Anant lacked in experience he made up for in sheer courage. Anant drove into the enemy as if heaven awaited him on the other side.

“Anant.”

Tarek called him by his first name. This was not how he addressed his other commanders, but the strength in Anant’s arms, the proud way he assembled his men, something about it made Tarek soft and amiable. He didn’t smile at Anant, but he did bring his hands together in the sign of peace.

“Are your men ready?”

Anant nodded. “Of course, my lord. However I regret to report that we lost several spears in the battle. The men will replenish our supply, but it will take time.”

Tarek smiled slightly. It was endearing, Anant’s care for trifling things. A trait that both Tarek and Anant shared, having once lived with very little.

Tarek put his hand on Anant’s shoulder. “You did very well. I’m proud of you.”

Anant swallowed and looked down at his feet. Tarek watched, amused, as bright pink crept up Anant’s neck.

“Tarek!”

Darvad strode towards him. The ranks of soldiers bowed low to their king, but Darvad didn’t spare them a glance. He looked ready to murder someone.

“Bad news,” Darvad said.

“What?”

Darvad looked down at Anant, who still stood rigid by Tarek’s side. Darvad dismissed him without a second glance.

“A messenger has just arrived from Pagdesh. Druv is missing, presumed dead.”

Tarek never really liked Druv, but the news came as a surprise. “What happened?”

The vein in Darvad’s forehead pulsed with his anger. “It is unclear. The last he was heard from, he had strong evidence of the Parans’ location and went to investigate himself. He had a pendant that had been brought to his attention and purchased from a poor herbalist in the rural mountain jungle. The pendant was worth a fortune, and had been crafted in Tiwari.”

Tarek narrowed his eyes.

“He recognized it as Keshan Adaru’s,” Darvad continued, “and assumed that Keshan gave it to the Parans before their exile. He had direct evidence of their location. And now he is missing. Doesn’t that sound suspicious?”

Tarek swallowed. “That is a leap of logic. The pendant could have been stolen, Darvad. It could have been a ruse. Yudar is not that stupid.”

“Druv heard that a family moved to the mountain two years ago,” Darvad said. “Three men and one woman. One of the men had blue eyes.”

Tarek cursed under his breath. Why did the Parans have to appear now, when everything was going so well? Tarek could already see the glint of anger in Darvad’s expression. Darvad’s obsession over his half-brothers would always come between them.

“Send a messenger to Pagdesh,” Tarek suggested. “Confirm these reports. There are so many suspicious rumors these days.”

“No. I must go myself, and see if it’s true. Not only to find the Parans, but to validate whether or not Druv is dead. He is one of my closest allies, and if he has been murdered then I promise to string up and hang whoever is responsible.”

Disappointment flooded Tarek. “But we are on the verge of war, Darvad.”

Darvad took off his diadem angrily and ran his hand through his hair. “I know. I know! But you must understand how important this is to me.” Darvad replaced his diadem crookedly. Tarek fought the urge to straighten it for him.

“Look,” Darvad said, “If I lose to the Parans, I lose my entire kingdom. I must find them!”

“You lose half the kingdom,” Tarek corrected. “Remember, the kingdom will be split once the exile is over. You will still be a king.”

“No!” Darvad shouted. “Mazar never should have divided it. It is all mine!”

“What do you want me to do?” Tarek looked around him—at the chaos created under Darvad. Courtiers and soldiers and servants rushed around as last minute preparations were made to invade Jezza. “You want me to tell everyone to go home, come back later, we’ll attack Jezza when the King’s schedule clears up?” Tarek couldn’t hide the antagonism from his voice. “This is a bloody war! I can’t just stop it for a moment while you rush up the mountains to sniff out a rumor.”

Darvad looked shocked by Tarek’s words.

“I’m not asking you to postpone the war,” Darvad said. “Just to let me take care of this.”

Tarek pursed his lips. “So you will not join me.”

Darvad frowned. “No.”

“You will go chase after Druv’s dead body instead.”

“It could lead me to the Parans,” Darvad urged. “And he was too good of a friend to leave rotting without an investigation.”

“Fine. Go.” Tarek turned away from him.

“Tarek…” Darvad started.

“Leave,” Tarek said, his voice low. “You have made your priorities clear. Defending your new laws, your ‘New Marhavad’, is less important than tormenting the Parans.” And with that, he stormed to his tent.

Alone, Tarek realized his foolishness in speaking so brashly. Darvad was king, after all. Tarek had led several skirmishes on his own, without Darvad’s support, and had succeeded admirably. He did not need Darvad by his side. And he should have been pleased to see Darvad’s personal attention to the possible death of one of his allies.

But these thoughts didn’t make him feel better. Fighting beside Darvad had been the pinnacle of his existence, the very definition of who he was. He had looked forward to it, and once again, the prospect of hunting the Parans had dashed his hopes.

“My lord!”

“What is it?” Tarek growled. He looked up to see his personal servant Laiu. He held a scroll in his hand.

“A message from your household in Dragewan, my lord,” Laiu said. “Your attendants have asked that I wait for a return message.”

Tarek rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t handle any pressing matters in his own state right now. He grabbed the scroll with unnecessary force. As he read the message, he felt the blood drain from his face and his knees go weak in shock.

His father was dead.

All these months on the road, all these precious hours wasted running around the kingdom, and Tarek had all but abandoned his sick father back in Dragewan. Now his father had died, all alone, in a strange city with no one by his bedside.

“God.” Tarek knelt down. “God!” He brought his hands together to pray. Grief flooded him.

Laiu waited beside him silently.

Tarek had to pull himself together. He wiped his eyes and stood again, although he still felt weak in the legs.

“Tell them…” Tarek swallowed. Tell them what? His father was gone. He couldn’t pass on any messages to the one who wanted them most. And now, with the war, he would not even be able to attend his father’s funeral pyre. “Tell them to cremate him in the honorable Triya tradition.”

Laiu frowned. “But my lord… your father was not a Triya, and they may protest—”

“—Tell them to do it!” Tarek shrieked, too upset to control himself. “Tell them to do it, and if they don’t, I will see them executed!”

“Yes, my lord!” Laiu fled the tent.

Tarek covered his face with his hands. He needed to be there. He needed to be with his father now, at least, in death.

“Tarek?”

“Oh for God’s sake, what now?” Tarek yelled.

Darvad walked in, eyes wide in surprise. “I’m sorry. Am I intruding?”

Tarek closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Darvad. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“My chariot is ready to leave. I wanted to apologize, and…” Darvad narrowed his eyes. “Are you crying?”

Tarek looked at him wearily. “My father has died.”

“My God! I am so sorry!” Darvad reached out to touch Tarek’s shoulder, and then hesitated. “Tarek, what can I do?”

“Nothing. It’s all right. I’ll be fine.” Tarek sat down on his bed.

Darvad sat beside him. “What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?” Tarek snapped. “I’m going to war this very day. It’s a week’s journey to Dragewan.”

Darvad touched Tarek’s knee. “I will tend your father’s funeral pyre.”

Tarek blinked. “You will?”

Darvad nodded. “Of course. I am heading back to Prasta, to gather supplies before I go to Pagdesh. Before I leave, I will see your father put to rest.”

All of Tarek’s anger faded. He let his body go limp against Darvad’s. The two of them sat there in silence.

“Thank you,” Tarek said finally.

“He will have all royal honors,” Darvad promised.

“And I will find Kadal and Sahdin for you,” Tarek responded.

Darvad smiled weakly. “I wish I could be in both places at once.”

“Me too.” Tarek sighed.

“You will be magnificent on the battlefield, Tarek,” Darvad said. “Your father will be proud of you in heaven.”

Tarek’s heart melted slightly.

“Remember to bring Aisa to me,” Darvad asked.