The Archer's Heart (21 page)

Jandu smirked. “What am I about to do?”

 “Pinch my ass.” Keshan laughed.

Jandu froze for a moment in surprise. He
was
going pinch Keshan on the ass, which was creepy. Instead he just flicked him on the arm.

“Wrong,” Jandu said.

Keshan grinned. “Liar. I can see the future. And you know what I see?”

“What?” Jandu leaned closer to Keshan.

“I see you and me making love in a forest.”

“We did that already.”

“This is a different forest.” Keshan slurred. “You have a burr digging into your shoulder blade.”

“How sexy.” Jandu’s lips hovered beside Keshan’s.

“Therefore I know we’re going to make it,” Keshan said emphatically. He shook Jandu’s shoulders for effect. “Whatever happens with Mazar’s announcement, with your brother, with me, never forget this: you and I are going to make love in a forest.”

“With a burr in my back?”

“Yes.” Keshan closed the distance and kissed Jandu. Like a wave, desire crashed over Jandu’s body, drowning him in languid warmth.

“I’ll remember,” Jandu whispered.

And, for the rest of that week, Jandu held on to that thought. He spent his mornings teaching archery to his cousins, and in the afternoons he and Keshan walked the city, dining with Keshan’s noisy family every night. Keshan and Iyestar taught Jandu how to swim without being pummeled to death by the waves, and Jandu learned how to fish. And, every night, there was the greatest escape of all, in Keshan’s body, the taste and smell of him overwhelming Jandu’s nights, making him burst with the joy of life. There was no need for fear, with Keshan in his future.

For the first time in his life, Jandu wanted to believe in destiny.

Chapter 17

The night before Mazar was to announce who would inherit the throne, most of the city of Prasta indulged in celebration. The night air filled with the sound of revelry and the cries of sheep being slaughtered for feasts. Music broke out in courtyards across the city, the notes of rebo chords and wind instruments wafting above the high clay and mud walls.

The impending announcement cast a heavy pall over the palace. Yudar spent the night in meditation. To respect the silence, Darvad celebrated elsewhere, at Druv’s townhouse. By the time Tarek joined his friends, they were well into their festivities. Even Firdaus Trinat seemed drunk, and he rarely lost control.

Darvad lavished Tarek with praise and attention. They practiced archery in Druv’s garden, and when it got too dark to see, they watched a dancing troupe inside. New food and wine flowed continuously. Darvad seemed in high spirits, although he admitted that he missed Iyestar and wished he had come.

“I am sure he means no offense by his absence,” Tarek told him.

Darvad nodded. “I know that. It is the way with the Adaru family. They have their own traditions, they are not like us.”

Despite the fact that his fate hinged on tomorrow’s decision, Darvad glowed with optimism. It rubbed off on Tarek.

“You promised you would show me how to do the Salafani dance.” Tarek was drunk, he knew it, and a part of his brain warned him that he could easily go too far in such a state, press his luck, press Darvad’s friendship.

But Darvad was not offended by the request. He clapped Tarek on the shoulder and stood. “Of course! I did promise you, didn’t I?” Darvad dashed to one of the female dancers. He grabbed her by the arm and swung her out into the middle of the room. The poor woman looked startled by Darvad’s sudden grab.

“You dance Salafani-style?” Darvad asked her, smiling wickedly.

The woman nodded. “Of course.”

“Then let’s show my friend how it’s done.”

Tarek reclined on the pillows and watched, stifling his disappointment that Darvad had not volunteered to show him the moves personally. The dance started traditionally, with the two of them circling around each other, arms weaving in the air, legs deliberately strutting across the room. As the tempo increased, they drew closer together, each gyration in tandem, until they were nearly touching, their bodies pulsing and twisting in synchronicity. It was a very erotic dance. Tarek watched the movements of Darvad’s body hungrily, the way his arms flexed, the careful placement of his feet. Darvad’s eyes burned as they stared wantonly at the half-clad dancer, and Tarek imagined what it would be like to have such eyes turned on him.

“Let me try,” Tarek said, standing up. He moved to Darvad, but the dancer quickly spun and grabbed his arm, misinterpreting him. Tarek struggled through the steps with her. She was patient. But Tarek’s sexual frustrations only made his poor dancing skills worse, and he quickly tired of trying.

Darvad found another dancing girl, and stalked her like prey. Tarek didn’t have the stomach to watch Darvad pursue a lover that evening. He slipped out of the room, wandering through Druv’s house, his head spinning with wine.

Tarek decided to go for a walk and dispel the dizzying buzz. Druv’s townhouse seemed too close; he needed air.

Sounds of merrymaking drifted from behind every wall. The wide, shady boulevard was home to a majority of Marhavad’s lords and courtiers, and so each occupant anticipated either trepidation or celebration the following day. Tarek was not the only lord wandering the street in the darkness. He passed by carousing groups of young men, Triya warriors dressed in their finest, he passed musicians and merchants making late deliveries. Everyone offered him the sign of peace as he passed, and it touched him. On the eve of a decision that might spark a civil war, all parties were filled with hope, filled with something close to affection for each other. Anything seemed possible.

The street circled round a large park, and Tarek followed the curve of the road, strolling down a quieter side street. Here were the houses of the ministers of Prasta, wealthy Triya who were not soldiers, but professional politicians. While celebration could still be heard, the scene was more subdued, and Tarek embraced these moments of serenity as he sorted through his raging heartbreak.

Tarek passed by the red-painted gates of a temple and he decided to stop inside. The shrine itself was tucked back away from the street within a thick stand of coconut trees. The prophets gazed down at him, and the face of God, illustrated as a shining sun, wrought in pure gold, glittered from the ceiling of the incense-strewn temple.

Tarek lit a fresh stick of incense off a dying ember. He rubbed paste on his forehead and then knelt in prayer.

He lost himself in his mumbled words. Religion always comforted him, and now it served as a buoy, keeping him afloat in the tumultuous world of being the lord of Dragewan. He prayed for guidance. He prayed for strength.

Tarek heard voices and turned. Two priests walked together down the path. They paused when they saw him praying there, and turned aside to give Tarek privacy. They stopped within a three-walled wooden shelter near the gate, where Tarek had smelled buttery tea being heated.

Tarek continued his prayer, but the priests’ presence intruded on his meditations. They no doubt assumed from his dress that Tarek was Triya, but if they found out a Suya was sullying their temple grounds, he could be punished. Darvad would defend him, as Darvad always did. But Tarek did not want to burden his friend with extra responsibilities, especially not on the eve of his ascension to the throne.

Tarek bowed his head low to God and then stood. His knees popped. He was getting out of shape, all this feasting and so little exercise.

In order to bypass the priests, Tarek walked a circuitous route back to the front gate, through the coconut grove, enjoying the perfumed warmth of the summer air.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tarek saw the flash of armor hidden behind the trees. He wasn’t the only warrior hiding in the temple that night.

His first thought was that it was some reveler relieving himself against a tree, but then he heard the voices of two men. It was late for such congress, and Tarek approached warily, worried the men were up to no good. Temples had been desecrated over the last few months by young rabble-rousers.

Then he saw them.

Keshan Adaru and Jandu Paran stood whispering together. Keshan reclined against a tree casually, and Jandu stood close to him, his hand beside Keshan’s head as he leaned on the tree for support. The two of them spoke in low voices, their armor and fresh clothes gleaming in the moonlight.

Tarek moved closer to hear what they were saying, keeping to the shadows, making no sound.

“…I can’t.” Keshan shook his head. He looked agitated.

“I want you there,” Jandu pleaded. “I need you there. Please. Yudar won’t mind. Hell, even Darvad would prefer you come to the ceremony. You’ve traveled all this way already.”

Keshan shook his head. “No. I promised Iyestar I would accompany you to the city gates, no further. And look! I’ve already broken my promise.”

“So break it all the way. Come with me to the palace.”

“No. I’ll spend the night in the Tiwari townhouse, but I must leave first thing in the morning.”

The two of them stood awfully close together, Tarek thought.

“What does it matter?” Jandu asked. He ducked his head to look into Keshan’s face, seeming to notice Keshan’s obvious discomfort for the first time. “Are you all right?”

 “Listen, I need you to do something for me,” Keshan whispered.

“Anything,” Jandu whispered back.

“Give me Zandi, just for a little while. You can get her in Tiwari after the ceremony.”

The request clearly shocked Jandu, for he straightened, his hands leaving the tree. “Why do you want her?”

“A feeling.”

“What feeling?”

Keshan sighed. He ran his hand through his hair. “I have a premonition that Zandi will be taken from you if I don’t protect her.”

“Keshan—”

“—Do you trust me?”

Jandu nodded. “Of course I do. Take her. Keep her as long as you wish.” Jandu slid Zandi off his shoulder and rested her against the bark of the tree.

Keshan suddenly kissed Jandu.

Tarek stood, transfixed, mouth agape in shock.

Jandu thrust his tongue into Keshan’s mouth. They drew closer together. Jandu pinned Keshan to the tree trunk, his hands on either side of Keshan’s face.

Tarek never witnessed two men kissing before. Despite the fact that Tarek disliked Jandu, he couldn’t deny that they were both exceptionally attractive men. The sight aroused him. Tarek watched them embrace, their breastplates grinding quietly together as they pressed closer, kissing slowly, lazily, as if they had all the time in the world, as if they had every right to be there, making love in the open.

When Tarek kissed men, it was always a furtive act, hasty and aggressive. He had never done this. The two of them made love with such gentle sweetness, their mouths caressing each other, their bodies trembling with a tremendous balance of strength and tenderness.

Watching them, Tarek awakened to the idea that love between two men could be something beautiful and pure, and not a desperate craving satisfied in darkness and in urgency.

Jandu whispered something to Keshan, and Keshan laughed, he let Jandu pin his body, hip to hip. Keshan licked at Jandu’s lips, and Tarek suddenly felt a deep grief unlike anything he’d ever experienced. This was a sweet moment he would never know. There was a purity in this secret embrace, and now that he knew it existed, Tarek wanted to experience it more than anything else in his life.

A bone-deep sadness tore through him. He would never have this. Not with Darvad. It would forever be out of Tarek’s reach, as long as he continued to love a man who could not—would not—love him back.

Tarek decided to leave the two lovers alone. His voyeurism, and his own arousal, disturbed him. This was a private moment, and Tarek ruined it by spying.

He heard a low voice from behind him, and realized that the priests approached. Despite his anger towards Jandu, Tarek determined that nothing should pollute this moment. He wanted Keshan and Jandu to have it, if he never could.

He leaned down and found a stone, and threw it close to the lovers. Jandu and Keshan broke apart immediately. They spoke again to each other, and then Jandu turned to leave. As they parted, their fingers touched briefly, and they walked in opposite directions, Zandi held in Keshan’s arms.

Tarek waited a few seconds, and then continued through the trees towards the temple gate. He watched Jandu stealthily depart.

He still didn’t like Jandu. Jandu gained admiration for his bloodline, rather than his talents. And while he was a good archer, Tarek was better. Yet Jandu would always receive more praise, and more credit, because of his lineage.

But, with this new revelation, a part of Tarek’s heart softened toward Jandu. They had more in common than Tarek had originally supposed.

Keshan departed next, sneaking through the gate, Zandi bright on his shoulder. Not for the first time, Tarek wondered whose side Keshan was on. He clearly preferred Darvad’s politics, and yet he had taken a lover from the opposite camp.

Once they were gone, Tarek made his own exit, abandoning Druv’s party and deciding to walk the rest of the way home. He knew Darvad would miss him, but in all the wrong ways.

There was a peace there, in that temple, that could have washed away everything and left his heart healthy and whole.

But it was not meant for him.       

Chapter 18

Jandu assumed Yudar would be angry with him for arriving back in Prasta at the last possible moment. Baram certainly had been. He’d almost punched Jandu for leaving, but Suraya restrained him, cautioning that a bruise would look bad at the formal ceremony.

Jandu got no chance to speak with Yudar the night he arrived home, as Yudar meditated in the palace temple. Therefore he sought Yudar the following morning, as his brother dressed into his formal wear alone.

“I’m glad you’re here,” was Yudar’s only comment. His expression showed the anxiety that an entire night’s meditation had not erased.

“Where are your servants?” Jandu asked.

“I sent them away. I wanted some quiet.” Yudar looked over at Jandu and smiled almost ruefully. “You aren’t the only one who occasionally requires solitude.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Jandu asked.

“No. Stay.” Yudar smiled at him. “I mean it, it’s good to have you here. I feel like I’m missing something precious when you’re not around.”

“Flatterer.” Jandu turned to Yudar’s full-length mirror and adjusted his breastplate. He wore full armor this morning in honor of the importance of the ceremony. Jandu’s heavy silver diadem already bothered him, and he’d only had it on for an hour.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?” Yudar struggled with the leather ties of his breastplate. He never developed the knack of tying knots out of sight.

“It was lovely,” Jandu told him. “There are places in Marhavad where no one cares what happens today.”

Yudar chuckled. “I wish I was there.”

“Let me help you.” Jandu took over tying Yudar’s breastplate and back plate. They stood together in amiable silence.

“Hand me your gauntlets,” Jandu said.

They were beautiful, gold and leather, with the Prasta crest of the sun emblazed across them, studded with a large black pearl. Jandu laced them tightly.

“Thank you, Jandu.” Yudar reached out and hugged Jandu to him. Yudar shook slightly.

“Are you all right?”

“Just nervous,” Yudar said.

“You’ll be fantastic,” Jandu told him, patting him on the shoulder. “You were born for this. You’ve been trained for this. No one could be a better king than you.”

Yudar expelled a large breath of air. “Well, let us hope that Mazar feels the same way.”

“Mazar is no fool.” Jandu raised the massive, jewel-encrusted diadem from Yudar’s table and placed it carefully on Yudar’s head. “This is going to give you a headache.”

Yudar smiled. “Some of us are used to wearing formal attire, Jandu.” He looked at himself in the mirror. Gold adorned him, head to toe. His red silk trousers shimmered with gold thread, and his gem-encrusted sword hilt glittered magnificently. Even his shoes bore elegantly embroidered suns. He looked like a god.

“Let’s go find out if I’m king.”

“Good luck,” Jandu said. He hugged his brother once more, and then followed him into the waiting entourage.

A procession of lords, ministers, messengers, soldiers, and relatives trailed Yudar as they made their way towards the large central garden. As Jandu walked, he tried to let the feeling of peace he acquired in Tiwari remain paramount.

But already, Jandu’s week in Tiwari faded like a dream. That glorious warmth and confidence and sense of belonging suffered under the tension that strangled the palace. Jandu found it ironic that he felt more like himself there, in Tiwari, than he did here, in his own home. With lords and ministers and priests surrounding him, Jandu felt trapped. Real life anxieties chewed away at the thin edges of Jandu’s memories.

Jandu’s body sparkled in the sunlight as the morning rays hit his armor of burnished steel and silver, decorated with small golden suns, protecting his chest, back, and upper arms. He wore matching silver bands on his wrists and lower arms. The metal grew hot, but for once Jandu didn’t care. Armor seemed like a wise decision on a day as tense as today.

Jandu had attended his share of formal announcements, but he had never seen anything like this. The garden was wall-to-wall bodies. Below, on the banks of the river, thousands upon thousands of citizens lined the roads and parks, looking up to see whether the Paran or Uru flag would be raised. Jandu took his place behind Yudar, alongside Baram and Suraya, at the front of the dais. Thousands of people stared at him, him and his family, and he brushed self-consciously at the curl of hair sticking out in front of his ear.

Baram matched Yudar in gorgeous gold armor. His diadem, too, shimmered with sapphires and pearls. And Suraya spared no detail, her diamond nose ring connected to her diamond earrings by a beautiful stretch of silver and pearls, her eyes darkened with kohl, henna on her hands, her dress luxuriant purple silk and silver embroidery.

“You look sexy,” Jandu whispered in her ear.

Suraya smirked behind her painted hand. “Behave, Jandu.”

On the other end of the dais stood Darvad Uru, resplendent in his own golden armor, alone. Nearby, his friends Tarek, Druv and Firdaus hovered, but on the dais, Darvad looked overwhelmed by the Paran’s unity.

And between them, old and tired, was Regent Mazar.

“Today is an auspicious day, a day where God has granted me the wisdom to choose the best course of action for our beloved nation,” Mazar began. “It is no easy task, because all the sons of King Shandarvan are fine men, noble men, with excellent hearts and strong arms, the Shentari faith within their souls. Choosing between Darvad Uru and Yudar Paran is like choosing between night and day, water and earth. Both are needed to bring balance and wholeness to our world, both are equally valuable to the people, and to my own heart.”

Jandu stifled a groan.
Just say it already. Just get it over with. Everyone is waiting on one word.

“I have had one long year to contemplate the repercussions of choosing one over the other, knowing that the wrong choice could lead to instability and war. Since the great battles of our forefathers, we have lived in relative peace under the banner of this palace, and I have no wish to darken the royal name or bring the wrath of God upon me by instigating a war. I have prayed for guidance, and this morning, God has taken me by the hand and shown me the path by which I must follow.”

The silence hung over the entire city.

Mazar rubbed his eyes. And then he looked out at the crowd. “Because I cannot choose between night and day, between earth and water, or between my heart and my soul, I have determined that I
will not
choose.”

Jandu’s breath caught.
What the hell did that mean?

“I will split Marhavad into two kingdoms,” Mazar said. “And let both sons of Shandarvan share in the bounty, and grant us their wisdom.”

There was a stunned silence. And then, instantly, chaos.

Darvad’s face turned red and that vein in his forehead pulsed angrily. Even Yudar, who remained calm and controlled in public, seemed flustered by the announcement. He frowned and looked at his hands, as if God planted a message for him there.

“What total bullshit!” Baram exploded, fists raising. “If anything will cause civil war, this will do it!”

Luckily, Baram’s exclamation was lost in the overwhelming drone of everyone else shouting at Mazar. Boos echoed across the garden. Lords shuffled and looked to Yudar or Darvad for support.

Jandu breathed heavily. He had no idea how to respond. He hadn’t even considered this an option. No one had. He looked up and almost had to laugh as the flag raisers tried to raise both Paran and Uru flags on the pole at the same time.

Mazar cowered as the volume of verbal assault increased, as shouts filled the air.

“Please! Let us all calm down! We must have peace!” Yudar held his hand up over the crowd, begging for order, but no one could hear him above the roar of outrage. It took both him and Darvad together to finally still the masses, and even then, their eyes turned cold on Mazar for even contemplating dividing the nation into two.

Yudar bowed respectfully to Mazar and brought his hands together in the sign of peace. “We will abide your decision, Master Mazar, and beg God’s blessings for this new chapter in the history of our beloved nation.”

Darvad bowed as well, although the vein in his head still throbbed.

Darvad helped usher the tumultuous guests to the adjacent garden, where the celebratory feast was ready and waiting. Few seemed in the mood for food. But the wine was immediately opened and passed, and everyone eventually took their seats, rage crystallizing in the icy silence.

Small conversations took place, speculations, but the main table where the Parans and Darvad sat along with Mazar was about as far from the Adaru’s reckless and delightful dining experiences as Jandu could get.

Jandu knew his old master well enough to recognize the strained grimace on Mazar’s face. Once, when Jandu was just a boy, Mazar gave him a leather ball to play with. Jandu managed to toss it into the river less than half an hour later. Jandu tried to retrieve it and fell into the water instead, nearly drowning. Mazar discovered him and helped Jandu to shore, where he then beat Jandu mercilessly, shrieking at him for being so careless with his own life.

But what Jandu remembered most about the incident was the way Mazar looked about ten minutes after beating him. He’d worn a haunted expression of remorse and sick self-reproach.

The same sick apprehension enshrouded Mazar’s expression now, as the uncomfortable official celebration slunk into its second hour. Mazar should have made a choice. And he didn’t. Rather than alienating half of Marhavad, he had estranged everyone in one fell swoop.

The stilted conversations, whispers, and anxious glances between lords grew into an unbearable level of tension.

“I cannot bear this any longer,” Darvad announced suddenly and loudly, standing up dramatically. He put his hand on Yudar’s shoulder. “Yudar, you are my half-brother, and now my co-leader in this great nation. Let us put aside our differences and work together, in the spirit of cooperation.”

Yudar returned Darvad’s smile. “My feelings exactly, Darvad. I wish you no harm and look forward to working with you.” Yudar stood and the two embraced. A nervous applause broke out.

“Come, let us celebrate the proper way. May I challenge you to a friendly game of dice, to show the good will between us?”

Yudar’s eyes glinted. “Wonderful!” He clapped his hands.

“I don’t want to play alone,” Darvad told Yudar. “With your permission, I’d like to invite my friends to join me.”

“Of course,” Yudar said. He turned quickly to Jandu and Baram. “Both of you, come with me.”

Jandu almost protested. Yudar knew how he felt about gambling. But Baram violently shoved Jandu in Yudar’s direction. “Shut up and do what you’re told, for once,” Baram mumbled.

Outside, the spectators crowded around, following the two kings through the garden and into the gaming room at the edge of the courtyard. Those at the feast got up and practically ran to the gaming room as well.

Baram was still spitting in rage, but Jandu’s anger had turned into a coil of apprehension, sitting cold and slick at the bottom of his stomach.

Servants prepared the room for the impromptu game. Someone fetched Yudar’s own exquisite gaming board.

Jandu sat down cross-legged alongside his brothers on one side of the board. Yudar’s pieces were carved of ivory, and Darvad’s were made of ebony. A lone pair of dice lay on the board.

Jandu leaned forward to speak to Yudar from behind the great blocking girth of Baram.

“Yudar.” He kept his voice low. “I have a bad feeling about this game.”

Yudar sighed. He leaned forward to whisper into Jandu’s ear. “I cannot refuse a challenge; you know that.”

“But —” Jandu was interrupted by applause as Darvad himself entered the room. He quickly sat across from the Parans, flanked on either side by his friends Tarek, Druv and Firdaus. Darvad handed the long dice to Firdaus.

“Firdaus will roll for me,” Darvad said. Just the presence of Firdaus made Jandu’s skin crawl. Firdaus had overdone even his own usual opulence, wearing a garland of carnelians over his armor. Amber studded his diadem so thickly that the heron emblazoned across the gold surface was barely visible. A playful expression lit Firdaus’ dark skin, and lifted his drooping moustache.

“And Jandu will roll my dice,” Yudar said, already entranced by the sight of the board.

Jandu frowned. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the game.

“Please take the first turn.” Darvad offered Jandu the dice, then positioned his own ebony game piece. “I stake one hundred gold pieces from my share of the royal treasury.”

Yudar nodded at Jandu as if to reassure him. “And I will stake the same.”

Jandu felt the uncomfortable intensity of hundreds of eyes upon him. Lords and courtiers jostled each other to squeeze into the small gaming room. Already the warmth of their bodies coupled with the summer heat to make the space feel almost stifling. Jandu threw the dice.

“Five!” Yudar declared.

Firdaus scooped up the dice, rattled them in his hands, and then blew on them gently. He threw them down on the board.

The dice rolled a four.

Yudar’s mouth was locked in a small, non-descript line. The intensity of his stare was the only evidence of his excitement. Whispered speculations rose through the crowd. Jandu could hear them placing their own wagers on the outcome of the game.      

Still, the game went well for Yudar. Darvad’s bets grew in size, but he continued to lose. He scowled when Yudar won his ruby collection, and Firdaus even had the decency to look embarrassed when he rolled a two, forfeiting Darvad’s newest prized possession, a white stallion from the great stables of Chandamar.

Mazar joined the spectators, seating himself to Yudar’s left. Anxiety still lined his face, but as the game progressed he seemed to relax slightly.

Baram laughed and taunted Darvad. Yudar sat stiff and still, but Jandu could see the thrill building in his eyes.

Every time Firdaus blew on the dice, Jandu thought he saw tiny flashes of light in the corner of his eye. Jandu looked around him, but no one else seemed to notice it. Jandu recalled that Firdaus was part-Yashva and his nervous tension grew.