Sword of the Deceiver (26 page)

“And what would that have been?”

“Power, of course. For yourself or for your family, it would not have mattered.”

“And since I did not say that?”

Queen Prishi sighed. “Since you did not, I will perhaps prove that I have finally become an old fool, and I will trust you with a few important things.” She waved at Damman again, and this time the woman handed her mistress a cup and helped her to drink. The queen swallowed, coughed, and swallowed again. “Your first question will be why am I poisoning myself?”

Natharie nodded. She could not help but cast an eye toward the doorway. She need not have worried, she saw. Two straight-backed figures knelt there. More trusted women, but not as trusted as Damman, for they were kept out of earshot.

“I take poison to keep myself alive,” said Queen Prishi. “Can you understand that?”

Natharie thought, and, slowly, understanding came. Bandhura wanted power, that was quite clear. To rule the small domain, she would have to be rid of Queen Prishi. Those hungry for power seldom waited for Death to come of his own accord. If Bandhura believed Prishi was wasting away on her own, she might find a patience she did not otherwise possess.

“She would know if the illness were feigned,” Natharie murmured. “And she would act.”

“Very good.” The queen took another swallow from her cup and then waved Damman back to her place. “It has the additional advantage of making senility quite believable, which makes people careless of what they say in front of me.” She touched Damman’s hand. “Even the best of women cannot lurk in every doorway without rousing suspicion.”

Damman put the cup down and folded her hands. Her face was hard as she watched Natharie, looking for signs of betrayal perhaps.
Here is one who will kill if it becomes necessary
, Natharie thought. Years of fear and treachery had made Damman knife-sharp.

Sharp enough to cut you
. Master Gauda’s words came swiftly back and Natharie shifted her weight uneasily.

“So,” said Queen Prishi. “Now you know what you know. What will you do?”

Natharie shrugged. “What can I do? I had thought to help you, but you clearly want no help.”

“Did I say so?”

Natharie lifted her gaze. The old woman was smiling again. Her teeth were stained and brown and in the flickering light they looked like fangs.

“I have watched you and Bandhura. That’s why I brought you here. She’s using you for something. What is it?”

“She wants me to spy on Prince Samudra,” answered Natharie flatly. “I believe she hopes I will one day be able to kill him, should she find that necessary.”

“Why does she think you, a follower of the Awakened One, would commit murder at her word?”

“Because she offers me … certain freedoms, and she knows certain facts.”

“Ah. Yes.” The queen sucked the hollow of her scabbed cheek. “That would be a good bargain. She would have been an excellent merchant, my daughter-in-law.” She seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped. “I’m sorry. For me the little habits of beauty have given way to little grotesqueries. It makes the illusion more complete.”

Master Gauda would be fulsome in his praise
.

Queen Prishi grimaced a little, perhaps at Natharie’s silence, perhaps at her own pain. “Has it commenced, this spying?”

“Yes. Your son met with a man in the gardens today. I was sent to hear what they said.”

“And what did they say?”

Natharie did not miss a beat this time, but told Queen Prishi all she had overheard. The queen blinked twice. “And what will you tell Bandhura?”

Natharie was ready for this question, and recited for Queen Prishi the lie she had readied as she ran up the servants’ stairs. Repetition would help her keep the details straight and she must keep her details straight. An actor’s memory is a liar’s memory, Master Gauda had said at one point. Natharie found herself wondering how much he had known then.

Queen Prishi closed her eyes, her face creased with private pain. “Well done,” she murmured hoarsely. Beside her, Damman only knotted her fingers together. The endless fussing and fluttering, it seemed, was part of the deception.

“So, Natharie, we know our parts? You will continue in your game with Bandhura, and from time to time, you will be sent for to help soothe me to sleep. I fear you will have to put up with me petting you and making much over my son’s favorite.”

“I will manage, Majesty.”

“Yes, I expect you will. I have a warning for you, though, Princess. Keep your own moves simple. You are doing well, but you are a novice only. Bandhura has played for her life since before she came to power.”

“I will not forget.”

“Good. Now, a last question.” Queen Prishi opened her eyes and turned her head. Her expression softened as she looked up at Natharie, and Natharie wondered what she was seeing. “What do you truly think of my son, Samudra?”

Caught off guard, Natharie felt a blush rise in her cheeks and she groped for some polite ambiguity.
Truth
, she ordered herself firmly.
Tell her the truth. You have gained her trust, do not throw it away
.

She had opened her mouth to speak when she heard the unmistakable thump of someone dropping to the floor, and her head jerked up in time to see the first of all queens stealing softly into the bedchamber. Bandhura’s eyes glittered as she saw Natharie sitting there beside her mother-in-law, and for the heartbeat before Natharie made the proper obeisance, she saw the hunger showing openly on Queen Bandhura’s beautiful face.

At that same moment, all sign of strength fell away from Queen Prishi, and she was no more than a sick and frail old woman impatient with her pain and bed.

“Daughter of my heart,” she said with weary brightness. “So kind, so thoughtful. I need your hands on my brow, daughter. Natharie is a wonderful teller of tales, but her touch is too rough for my poor head.”

“Of course, mother of my heart.” Bandhura came forward, graceful as always, and settled herself beside Prishi’s bed. With skilled fingers she began to rub the old queen’s temples and forehead. Prishi let out a gusty sigh and closed her eyes.

Understanding it was time to depart, Natharie made obeisance and slipped away. Ekkadi hovered by the threshold, wringing her hands together nervously.

“What happened?” she whispered. “Did you tell her about the poison? What will she do?”

What will she do?
“I don’t know,” she answered. “Upon my life, I don’t know.”

Ekkadi opened her mouth, but Natharie waved her to silence. With her maid behind her, she returned to the viewing chambers as calm and collected as she could. All round them buzzed the life of the small domain — the gossip, the study, the children’s games, and the endless, endless lessons. The children, protégés, and wives of the greatest of the great empires, were all so carefully sheltered and guarded from the outside world, and given no protection at all from each other. The cruelty of power and politics was concentrated here in this ivory-framed heart.

“Mistress,” hissed Ekkadi.

Natharie realized she was standing and staring, and a number of the old grannies on the benches were beginning to stare in return. There’d be questions later from her fellow students. She blinked and forced her mind back to what she must do now. She smiled shyly as if nothing was wrong, and tossed greetings to those she knew, and promises for another game to the cluster of perfumer’s apprentices from whom she’d won four ear bangles last night. The small domain’s women were for the most part much less serious about their gambling than the women in the barracks she had visited with Captain Anun. Natharie had to play carefully, so as not to win too often.

Natharie reached Queen Bandhura’s private chamber, and looked about in confusion when she was greeted only by one of the lower serving women.

“I was summoned by the first of all queens,” she said. “Or so I was told.”

In perfect timing, Ekkadi bowed her head, prepared to take the blame for doing her duty like a good maid should.

“Then please sit so you may await the queen’s word, Princess.” The serving woman bowed and stepped aside, as Natharie hoped she would, and she settled herself onto the pillows laid out for whatever guests the queen should wish to receive in her perfect jewel box of a room. The fine curtains screened her from casual view, but the babble of voices was constant. Natharie had not known silence during the daytime since she arrived. The stillness of the garden had been both a tremendous blessing and a little disconcerting.

Queen Bandhura was not long in coming. She sailed into the room, ignoring all obeisances including Natharie’s. “Will that woman never die?” She bit the words off, and rearranged her face into her usual pleasant smile. It was as smooth and practiced a motion as the one she used to adjust her skirts every time she sat down.

A word and a gesture sent all the waiting women scattering to the far reaches of the chamber, including Ekkadi who could not hide the disappointment in her eyes.
She must be bursting for the news
.

“Now, Natharie.” The queen folded her hands gracefully in her lap. “What did you learn today?”

So much beauty, so well protected, and Natharie had no defense against her. None at all. “Much, Great Queen, but …” She demurred. “What?”

Say it. This is the truth that will hide the lie
. She swallowed hard and let her face show her fear. It was not difficult. “I was seen.”

“You let yourself be seen?”

“I … it was the sorceress. I underestimated her watchfulness.”

“Underestimated Hamsa?” Bandhura’s laugh was short, and it was cruel. “Your expectations must be low indeed. What happened then?” The words were gentle, and Natharie felt her skin twitch along the thin line where Divakesh had laid his sword against her throat.

“I told him … I told him it was because of a bet.” Gambling was a much-loved occupation in the small domain. Riddles, dice, dominoes, chess were all played for undignified wagers. Samudra, who grew up in these halls, would know that.

“A bet?” Bandhura watched her through narrowed eyes, her face a mask of calculation that nonetheless showed all the woman’s burning intelligence. “Yes, yes,” she nodded finally. “It’s believable at least. Do you think he accepted this?”

Natharie bowed her head, her fingers fiddling with a wrinkle in her skirt. “He seemed … flattered, I think.”

“Did he?” Natharie glanced up to see the queen lean back on her pillows, as relaxed as a hunting cat in the sun, and as watchful. “This may yet work to our advantage. I am pleased to see you have a sharp mind, Natharie.” For once, it sounded as if she truly meant her words. “It will serve you well and you will find reward from it. Now, what was so urgent that Samudra had to meet a priest at the height of midday?”

“He was talking about Lord Divakesh.”

“Ah. And what was the nature of this conversation?”

“He wished to know how Divakesh was regarded among the priests of the Mothers. Whether he was held in esteem by those under him, or whether it was only his association with the emperor that held him up.”

The queen’s brows arched. “And this priest was not scandalized by such blasphemy?”

A court is a court, whether it is of men or the gods
. “He did not seem to be. He seemed to think that Divakesh was feared more than loved, but that there were some among the higher orders of priests who might be induced to weaken his authority.”

Bandhura considered this for a moment. “Were names given?”

“No.” Natharie bowed her head once more. “I am sorry, Great Queen.”
See, I am taking my part most seriously
.

“It cannot be helped, not at this time,” she added, the hint of warning very clear in her words. “So, Samudra seeks to dethrone Divakesh. Well, he might. It could be the prelude to many other things.” She paused, and directed her piercing gaze fully toward Natharie. “You must have been pleased to hear this.”

Natharie shrugged. It was time to return to the truth, to fully frame the lie. “Should I deny it, Great Queen? I have no affection for Lord Divakesh.”

“It is best to be open about such things, with me, at least.” Bandhura reached over and patted Natharie’s hand. “We must be great friends from now on, you and I. We must be seen together often, so that these little conversations will arouse no suspicion.”

Here came the greatest risk of all. Natharie took a deep breath. “Perhaps not, Great Queen. Prince Samudra does not trust you.”

Bandhura cocked her head toward Natharie, amused once more. “He does not? Clever of him. But it is all the more reason for me to take you under my wing, child. You see, it will make him feel all the more protective of you, as he must save you from his sly sister of the heart.” She laughed, a bright, merry sound that made the skin at Natharie’s throat itch. “Go now, child. Back to your games. I’ll send for you again soon.”

Natharie made obeisance and left the private room, pushing aside the curtain and inhaling the air of the outer chamber with the feeling of someone who had narrowly escaped drowning. Her knees were shaking and her hands were weak and she felt she must soon sit down or she would collapse.

But you survived. You survived and she believes. You have won that much
.

Now all that remains is to do it again, and again, and again
. Bile rose in Natharie’s stomach and she swallowed hard against it.
Help me, Anidita, for without your eyes I am going to be lost in this maze
.

But there was nothing to do but pull on her mask, even as Bandhura did, and walk into the sunny viewing rooms, calm and happy for all this little world to see.

Beyond the Shifting Lands wait the homes of the gods, the Heavens and the Hells. They are part of the Land of Death and Spirit, surrounding it, permeating it, and yet as separate from it as the worlds of flesh and mortality. They are great cities, forest groves, whole worlds of splendor and glory, distinct from each other with their own borders and their own guardians
.

It was to the edge of one Heaven that Vimala, A-Kuha, Mother of Destruction, the Deceiver, drove her chariot. She had scarcely reined in her terrible steeds when the gates of the shining city opened. Her serpents hissed a warning an instant before the form of her sister and queen flew toward her. On wings of lotus and terror, Jalaja, the Queen of Heaven, hurled herself against her sister with the force of thunder that rocked the world around them
.

“Traitor!” she screamed, and her curved sword clashed down. Vimala danced backward, her own blade flashing to block her sister’s blows. Her arm was cut already by the first assault and divine ichor dripped down
.

“Calm yourself, my sister!” cried Vimala as their swords clashed together yet again. Her steeds hissed warning, but she only retreated
.

“What right have you to steal what is mine!” cried Mother Jalaja. She burned like lightning, like ice. She was all the wrath of injured destiny and the vengeance of generations, and even Vimala hesitated before her might
.

“I stole nothing.” She made herself say as she backed away yet again, trying to put herself out of range of the sword of the goddess. “The girl Natharie was never yours.”

Jalaja circled her sister, less frantic now, but no less angry. “She came to me of her own will.”

“She came to your lands. Not one threat of your sword on earth has been able to make her yours.”

The Queen of Heaven only snorted at this, but she did not raise her sword. Not again. Not yet
.

“You mince words, A-Kuha. You irritate me.”

Vimala made her gamble, recklessly, ready for bloody consequence, as was her nature. Her serpents pressed close about her throat and shoulders, ready to shelter her from the wrath to come. “I am not surprised.” Vimala smiled. “If the girl had truly been yours, I would never have been able to make this bargain Or …” She paused, as if considering carefully. “Do you say the power of your word and your due sacrifice is so small?”

“What are you doing, Deceiver?”

Now Vimala made her answer in earnest. “Showing you what you should have seen these long years before, Sister. We are ill-served within our lands.”

“These lands are mine. If you share in them, it is at my whim.”

At this, the Mother of Destruction bowed her head. “So it is.” Her lowered eyes glinted with all the strength of will and steel. “It changes nothing. You are ill-served.”

“By you, my sister.” The words were flat, and bitter as poison
.

But Vimala only shook her head slowly. “Oh, no, Queen of Heaven. In me you have a great friend, although you will not see it.”

“Now you say I am blind?” Jalaja raised up the sword. Her wings of divine war spread out behind her
.

“And deaf,”answered Vimala mildly
.

“I will strike off your head!” Jalaja swung the blade down. Vimala, ready, skipped backward, and still she felt the heat as its edge brushed past her shoulder. Her serpents hissed loudly, their mouths gaping and their white fangs bared
.

“And then what?” Vimala said, her grin showing her own sharp teeth. “Who will take my place? What blood will you yourself lose as you shed my blood?”

But Jalaja shook this off question. “You overreach yourself, Sister. For all your clever words, you too are ill-served. The one you claim for your prince will not breaks the pattern of the dance. His vows to Indu and to me will not leave his heart.”

“I know.” Vimala sighed. “He is a stubborn one. So, we are even in our misfortunes. I propose we settle it with a wager.”

With that, she had her sister’s attention again. The divine blade was still as Jalaja’s eyes narrowed. “What wager?”

And so I have you, my sister.
The Queen of Heaven loved to gamble as much as any mortal queen, and her sister had known this since they came into being. “As your champion has failed your test …”

“It is no true test. The emperor is not my true champion.”

Vimala let out a short sigh, as if giving into her sister’s stubbornness. “Then let it be this way,” she said. “Put forth a test for your priest, any sort you choose. If he responds in honor and true faith, then the order he maintains is upheld. All remains as it was before, save that you may then strike off my head for my insolence. But if he fails, I will set forth a test for my prince. If he defeats the temptations set before him, then you acknowledge that he is worthy to be emperor.”

“What are you doing, Vimala?” whispered the Queen of Heaven
.

Her sister, her other self, her enemy, her counselor, spread her hands. “What I must, Jalaja. Whether you will it or no, these are my lands too, and my servants and I will not leave them as they are.”

“And if your prince wins? What forfeit do you claim?”

“The Pearl Throne. It will become right and proper within the dance that Samdura sit there.”

They stood still before each other, these two. They were great as the sky, small as sand on the shore, they were all things precious and base together, they were beauty and terror, wisdom and foolishness, all at once, all together, all separate. They were each distinct and they were one being indivisible, and they stood outside the worlds and inside the heart and they watched each other. In another place, at the same time, in other aspects they danced together on a green sea, churning the waters, the infinitely complex pattern creating the new day, and still at the same time they stood here, caught in each other’s game
.

Perhaps not even they understood the mystery and paradox of their selves. It simply was as it must be
.

The Queen of Heaven lifted her sword hand, and the blade at once became a white dove that flew into the air above the shining city. “Very well. It shall be as you say.” Now it was her turn to sigh, cocking her head thoughtfully to one side. “I think I shall regret your death.”

“Save your regrets until my head decorates your belt.” Vimala shook her hips, rattling the skulls that hung from her girdle. Then she raised her blade and held out her free hand to her sister. The Queen of Heaven took the Proffered hand and locked her gaze with the Mother of Deception
.

Slowly, the two began a new dance, and beneath them, the world turned
.

With the grey light of dawn, Radana arrived at the docks of Hastinapura. Most of the way she had been confined to the filthy hold with the rats and the stinking cargo of eel guts and medicinal reed bulbs which were the boatman’s stock and trade. She could see the light through narrow chinks in the deck, however, and she had learned to tell, by the feel of the motion of the boat and the shouts of the family above, when they pulled up to a dock.

She had carefully selected a family boat, so as not to have any man or men try to take payment in kind from her. She still had her wits, and a knife beneath her skirt, but she did not want to have to waste them on such foolishness. The wiry, naked-breasted woman who ran her man with a sharp eye and sharp tongue was more than willing to take the two gold anklets to see that Radana arrived in secret, and unmolested. It had, however, been a painfully slow voyage. No amount of persuasion or extra payment could convince either the woman or the man to miss a single one of their regular stops along the way, where they traded and gossiped, drank and left offerings for the next stage of the journey. It was excruciating, but it was worth it. If the family was even questioned by the king’s men, Radana had no notion of it.

And to undo the king’s madness, I can be patient
.

She told herself this over and over again, until it became a part of her meditations.

Now, overhead, she heard a heel thump three times on the deck. This was the all-clear signal they had arranged. Even these ignorant river travelers knew a human could not live days at a time without air. The signal was followed by a thump and shuffle and the hatch was thrust aside, sending a shaft of dim light down into the dark hold. With it came a host of sounds, incomprehensible voices of humans and animals, the creak of ropes and the crack and thud of heavy burdens. Radana clambered up the splintered ladder and gazed out for the first time at the river port of Hastinapura.

Her heart sank. She had expected it to be large, but the rumbling river of human activity surging around the docks was deeper and broader than she had ever imagined.

The riverwoman elbowed her in the ribs.

Radana yelped, and came back to herself in an instant as she saw the woman holding out her dirty, calloused palm. She did no more than grunt, but her meaning was plain. She wanted payment and she wanted Radana off her boat.

Very well
.

Radana handed over the ankle rings she had promised. With her chin high, she stepped from the boat onto the tarred dock. She kept her gaze straightforward and proud as she walked forward. She was noble and she was strong. She was not a river scrap of nothing.

The bluff worked. Porters and traders made at least a little room for her. She needed to find a bath, and a place she could hire some honest bearers and a palanquin. She could not arrive at the Palace of the Pearl Throne alone and on foot. Through the shifting mass of heads, shoulders, and animal torsos in front of her, she could glimpse the narrow, dark streets that led away from the open docks, and she shuddered at the thought of what waited in there.

“Well then, here’s a pretty lady a long way from home.”

The creaking voice startled her, but Radana managed not to jump. She turned slowly, with all the dignity she had learned in Sindhu’s court, and looked down. There, in the meager shade under a pile of rice sacks, crouched a withered old man. He wore nothing but a breechclout about his skinny hips and his iron grey hair was divided into countless braids, bound back in a greasy cloth winding.

“Not so far as that, father,” she answered, the Hastinapuran words feeling light and slick on her tongue.

But they were comprehensible, because the old man grinned, showing filthy and broken teeth and answered, “You think not?”

You will not make a victim of me, old man
. “You are a sorcerer.”

That only made the old man grin more broadly. “I am, pretty lady, and my sorcerer’s eye,” he tapped his temple with one scarred, horny finger, “sees you are in want of guidance.”

Don’t look at the streets. Don’t show indecision
. She kept her haughty expression fixed, but only barely. “Anyone who served me honestly would find himself well rewarded.”

With surprising speed, the man leapt to his feet. “Then permit me to be your guide.” He bowed, moving like a spry boy, for all his face was as wrinkled as a walnut. “Where are we going, pretty lady?”

“To the Palace of the Pearl Throne.”

That made him pull back, but only for a moment. “Ha! Pretty you may be, but they are a cage of beauty there.” He waggled his finger at her. “What makes you think they’ll open the door for one more bird?”

“Does it matter to you?” Radana answered with a small shrug. “Take me to the proper gate, and you will be paid, regardless of what happens afterward.”

He shrugged broadly. “As you say then, pretty mistress, but first, I must have new clothes.”

“Why?”

“Pretty mistress, look at me.” He spread his arms wide to make sure she missed no detail of his emaciated self. “You are lovely but I am not. I cannot walk among the gardens of the noble and the blessed.”

“Beggars and sorcerers are holy.” She said it as a delay. She was silently adding up the jewels she had brought. She had only so much gold with her. Palanquins and bearers cost money, and she must pay for her own bath and some fresh clothing of good quality …

“This is my city and I know the rules of its streets, pretty mistress.” He spoke simply, without the wheedling, greedy tone she knew well from the lesser sort of merchant. “Do you want to go to the palace? Buy me new clothes.”

It made sense. If he was a cheat, he was a good one. She could not be led to a palace by a beggar. Stranger that she was in this place, she could see that much. “Very well, father. You will have your new clothes. And you will help me hire some honest bearers and a conveyance.”

“Of course, of course: A pretty lady cannot arrive on foot. You are most perceptive. Come, mistress, come.” He grinned again, bowing and sweeping out his hand toward the dark alleys of the city. “I will show you all.”

They did not arrive at the Palace of the Pearl Throne that day. The sorcerer, whose name was Madhu, insisted that by the time they acquired all they needed and made their way through the streets, it would be late in the evening and the gates would be closing. So, Radana spent the night at a hostel for female pilgrims. The place was crowded with strangers but clean, and in the morning she was still unmolested and in possession of her gold. After she broke her fast with bread, spiced rice, and oranges, she and Madhu began their journey through the streets of the city.

Radana was absolutely beggared, but at least she had put on enough of a show that none of the soldiers in the streets challenged her right to pass between the great stone houses of the wealthy, the noble, and the gods. She was clean, scented with sandalwood, and wrapped in Hastinapuran style in rose-colored silks. The hired palanquin was painted green and trimmed in silver with a cloth of silver canopy to provide shade from the sun. The bearers wore matching trousers of bright blue. Madhu led the way, his ebon walking stick held before him. He now wore a coat, trousers, and slippers of pure white. His greasy headcloth had been replaced by a neatly wound cap of madder red.