Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) (7 page)

FOR SEVERAL DAYS afterward, Kusala did not feel quite like himself. Finally he told Churikā and the rest of the Asēkhas how the scrying basin had affected him. Rather than offer words of comfort, however, they’d laughed even harder than when the hags had trampled him near Lake Ti-ratana. The more he tried to explain the seriousness of the situation, the more they’d laughed.

“I’ve been feeling strange every time I pick up my wash basin,” Podhana said, prompting another spate of revelry.

Kusala gave up and guffawed along with them. Afterward he was his grumpy old self again.

Four days after Kusala and Utu rescued King Henepola from near death, Kusala was summoned to visit the king. Madiraa and Indajaala, who now appeared to have become close friends, had been providing daily updates on Henepola’s recovery, including occasional visits from Utu on the balcony. But Kusala had stayed away. His relationship with Henepola had never included admittances of weakness on either side. He didn’t want to embarrass the king by visiting him during this period of frailty.

Madiraa escorted Kusala to the door of the royal chambers. She’d discarded her usual armor for a long black gown. Before the squires granted him admission, the princess hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.

“If you had not come to Nissaya with the snow giant, all would have been lost,” she said with a tearful smile. “My father would be dead—or worse. How can I ever thank you, Kusala? As I said before, you are like a second father to me. I owe you more than I can say.”

“Your smile repays all debts,” Kusala said. “I love you, my lady, like the daughter I never had—at least, that I know of.”

She laughed at that, but without derision—and then scampered down the hall, her gown fluttering behind her.

When Kusala entered the royal chambers, Henepola was nowhere to be seen, but Indajaala was snoozing in a cushioned chair near the bed, his chin resting on his chest. When Kusala poked his shoulder, the conjurer sat up with a yelp.

“Why didn’t you just take off my head with your
uttara
?” Indajaala complained.

Kusala laughed harder than he should have. He was cursed—or blessed, depending on your point of view—with
The Torgon’
s mischievous sense of humor. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t resist. I have never seen you look so vulnerable.”

“You’d be vulnerable too, if you’d had as little sleep as I. Since Utu healed the king, only Madiraa has spent more time in these chambers.”

Kusala’s face grew serious. “How is Henepola? And
where
is he?”

“He awaits you on the balcony. There is a ewer of wine on the table near the window. The king asks that you fill your own goblet before joining him.”

“How goes his recovery?”

“Ask him, not me.”

When Kusala stepped onto the balcony, he was surprised to see that Utu was with Henepola. Both were gazing northeastward, in the direction of Java, the dark forest that lay between Nissaya and Avici, home of Invictus. The king was adorned in white robes and held a goblet of wine. The snow giant, as usual, wore only his loincloth and abstained from refreshment.

Kusala stood behind them for what seemed like a long time. He noticed that neither Utu nor Henepola was speaking—or even moving. It was as if they were in a trance.

“Am I welcome to join you?” Kusala finally said.

He expected both to be startled, as Indajaala had been; instead, they turned their heads slowly and smiled.

Utu did not speak, but Henepola said, “Please do, my friend. It is a wondrous evening. When the moon rises at midnight, it will be even more magnificent.”

Kusala walked over to the king and leaned against the balcony wall. He too stared at the clear night sky. Its grandeur soon seduced him. Not until the crescent moon appeared on the eastern horizon did Henepola break the silence.

“The snow giant has taught me the value of life.”

Utu grunted.

“Sire?” Kusala said.

“To
truly
appreciate such beauty for just a single moment is worth more than victory in a thousand wars,” the king said softly.

“I have taught him nothing,” Utu said, “other than that I’m not much of a conversationalist. After a few days, his fey mood will pass, and he will return to his former ignorance. Humans always do.”

Henepola threw back his head and guffawed. “More wine!” he said to Kusala. “But none for our large friend. He’s a teetotaler, you know.”

“This wine you so cherish is nothing but dirty water to me,” the snow giant said matter-of-factly.

Kusala went back into the royal chambers and refilled the king’s goblet and his own. Indajaala was gone. When he returned to the balcony, Henepola and Utu were silent again.

“Sire, to my great pleasure, you appear strong again,” Kusala said. “Madiraa is relieved, as well. How
do
you fare?”

“Never better, chieftain. Well, that’s not entirely true. It would be more accurate to say, never
wiser.
My final days will be spent with appreciation of my blessings. Kusala, you’ll be pleased to hear that the snow giant has converted me. I no longer believe in an all-powerful creator who sleeps while we toil. I only believe in
now
.”

“I did no such thing,” Utu said. “The man raves even worse than I.”

Henepola exploded in laughter again.

Kusala arched an eyebrow. “There is much to be done, sire. Mala’s army approaches. We must take stock.”

Henepola quickly grew serious. “Tomorrow, you and I—along with my precious daughter—will begin the final preparations. I have a few surprises for our foe. When Mala arrives, he will find us more than ready.”

“More than ready,” Utu agreed.

“WHAT ARE WE going to do if he finds you?”

“He won’t.”

“He found you before.”

“I wasn’t hiding then. I was only sleeping.”

“And
he
wasn’t trying as hard. Do you know what he did today?”

“No.”

“He destroyed Carūūldassana, she who bore your only offspring.”

“Then both are dead, one long before the other.”

“And here I thought you were the sentimental type.”

“I care only for . . .”

“. . .
myself
. I know.”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to hear what else my grandson did today?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell you, anyway.”

“I knew you would.”

“He blew up half a mountain.”

“And you know this because . . . ?”

“One of my girlfriends witnessed the entire thing and told me all about it.”

“I see.”

“And you’re still not worried?”

“I’m very worried, but not about that.”

“Well, you should be . . . dragon.”

“So you say . . . demon.”

“Would you like to hear what
I’m
worried about?”

“No.”

“I’m worried that he’s going to find you and torture you, and that you’re going to reveal my . . .
our
 . . . plan to him.”

“You think me so weak?”

“I think him so strong.”

“I would die before I told him.”

“I’m sure Yama-Deva would have said the same.”

“The will of a snow giant does not compare to the will of
Mahaasupanna
.”

“That’s debatable. But my grandson’s strength is not. Why don’t you just admit that he’s stronger than you? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. He’s stronger than anyone who has ever been.”

“He caught me by surprise the first time.”

“Liar.”

“Perhaps.”

“If he learns the details of my plan, we both will lose. Keep in mind that Invictus is quite angry with you. He won’t rest until you are properly punished. Or at least enslaved. Would you like to become another Mala?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“I’m trying to
save
you . . . and me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I have another . . .
plan
. But it will take your cooperation.”

“Why do I not like the sound of this?”

“Ha!”

“Go on . . .”

“There is a spell—powerful, mysterious, but long forgotten . . . except by a very few. Once woven, it cannot be undone. But it works only if the recipient accepts it without resistance. It is not something I could force upon you.”

“As if there is anything . . .”

“You are
insufferable
!”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to hear more about the spell?”

“I take it back. There is
one
thing you can force upon me: your annoying voice.”

“You have always underestimated my wisdom.”

“Hardly.”

“I have the ability to erase your memories.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes, but it will come with a price.”

“Doesn’t everything a demon offers?”

“That depends on your point of view.”

“All right, you’ve made me curious. What
is
the price?”

“I’m not able to erase specific memories. I’m talking
all
your memories. Every single one. Permanently. Your mind will become a blank slate.”

“If it’s true you are capable of this, why would I allow you to perform such a heinous act on me?”

“Yama-Deva would have begged me to do this.”

“The snow giant’s memories were erased, anyway.”

“There’s a difference between buried and erased.”

“Hmmmm . . . I see your point.”

“Here’s all I’m suggesting:
If
the worst occurs and Invictus finds you . . .
If
you and he do battle and he prevails . . .
If
what he does to you is too hideous to endure . . . just remember our conversation. And
if
I appear and say two words to you in the ancient tongue—words that you’ll instantly recognize—simply say
yes
. Just think . . .
all
your suffering will vanish.”

“And what will become of my body?”

“You won’t care.”

“Demon! I care too much,
especially
for my memories. I’ll never say yes.”

“Let’s hope you never have to.”

“I’ll
never
say yes.”

“That remains to be seen.”