The Archer's Heart (32 page)

“I hope you have dozens of letters for me,” Keshan said.

Jandu sighed. “They’re gone.”

Keshan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I had all those drawings… they’ve been collecting for months beneath that statue.” He glared at the statue angrily. “And then
she
came and took them all.”

“She? Who?” Keshan’s eyes widened. “Suraya?”

“God, no!” Jandu looked just as horrified at the idea. “No, Mendraz’s bitch of a consort, Umia! It’s her statue. She thought I wrote the letters to her, and took them.”

Keshan blinked at Jandu for a few moments, and then burst out laughing. Umia was his aunt. He grew up with stories of her human conquests.

“What did you do? I assume she wanted you to fuck her.”

Jandu closed his eyes. “Yes. She wanted me to, but I didn’t. So she cursed me.”

Keshan froze. Umia’s curses had been the scourge of their family for generations. He had never thought she would harm anyone he cared about. He quickly glanced over Jandu’s body, looking for abnormalities.

“What curse?”

“I’m going to turn into a woman,” Jandu said between gritted teeth. “I begged Mendraz to help, and he reduced the curse to one year of my choosing.”

Keshan simply stared. The expression on Jandu’s face warned Keshan against making light of the matter.

“I’m sorry.” It seemed like such an empty, useless thing to say.

Jandu sighed, and squeezed Keshan’s hand. “It’s the least of our worries, honestly. Suraya’s pregnant, and she isn’t getting enough to eat here.”

Jealousy flooded Keshan, but he forced himself to smile. “Congratulations.”

Jandu quirked an eyebrow at him. “It isn’t mine. It’s Baram’s child.”

“But this is your year with her, right?”

“Yes. She was pregnant before me.”

“Are you sure?”

Jandu smirked. “I know how to count.” He leaned back and smiled at the sky. “Besides, I’m too in love with you to pretend with anyone else.”

Keshan stroked Jandu’s hair. “What are you going to do?”

“Yudar wants to go to Afadi and hide as servants. I don’t particularly care where we go, as long as there is food and I don’t have to beg anymore.”

Keshan could feel Jandu’s shudder. He leaned over and kissed Jandu sweetly.

But Keshan’s stomach grumbled, announcing the late hour in the day. Jandu smiled shyly. “Are you hungry? We could go back to the house and see what Baram made for dinner. It probably won’t be much, but it usually tastes good. He’s mastered the art of making stale rice exciting and flavorful.”

Keshan lowered his lips to kiss Jandu’s neck. He was loath to give up this moment, the two of them, alone in the world. But Jandu had apparently made up his mind to feed his guest. He sat up and brushed the leaves and sticks from his clothing.

“I’ve brought some food as well,” Keshan said. Keshan saw Jandu’s eyes brighten, and then watched him try and hide his enthusiasm. Everything Jandu did right now was perfect. Keshan grabbed his hand again and kissed him.

“I love you,” Keshan whispered.

Jandu smiled crookedly. “I love you too.”

Keshan rested his forehead gently on Jandu’s for a moment, sighing, and then the two of them left the forest glade.

O
NE LOOK AT THE
P
ARAN’S HOME IN THE FOREST CONFIRMED
Keshan’s worst fears: he had not brought enough to help them. They were going to die of deprivation.

His heart ached as he realized he hadn’t done enough. And yet they still welcomed Keshan into their home with the enthusiasm of puppies, all of them bounding around Keshan and touching him and laughing, sweeping the floor under his feet and offering him seats, handing him water and what little food they had. Even Yudar seemed honestly pleased to see Keshan, despite their differences.

But there was no comfort to be had in this bleak place. Jandu’s letters had lied, hiding the level of their desperation.

Keshan saw they had sold everything they had of value, other than the chest in the corner that held their weapons and armor. Their clothes were in tatters, their sandals worn and held together with rawhide string. The hut leaked and it stank of mold. They had one pot and the few jars they had for food stores were cracked and stained. Their cow looked sickly, her coat patched with bites and her ribs prominent.

Yudar had changed most of all. Where he had once been the symbol of a healthy, strong Triya king, he now resembled an ascetic walking the last steps of his life. He had grown a beard, and his long hair was loose, oily and turning gray. His stomach and eyes sunk with hunger, and his arms had lost the muscles of a warrior. His ribs shot out in an angry display of malnutrition.

Baram was still intimidating, even starving, but his hair had thinned dramatically and his skin was riddled with cuts and bruises, thorns angrily eating at his flesh, a heat rash on his ankles, his body rejecting the humidity of the jungle. Suraya was hugely pregnant. Her hair was still fiery and beautiful, and her eyes had their liquid, smoldering sensuality, but dark circles had formed under them and her skin had taken on a yellowish tone.

“It looks like an outhouse, doesn’t it?” Jandu asked Keshan softly.

Keshan tried to smile. “A cozy outhouse. With a nice smell.”

“That would be all the sandalwood.” Jandu helped Keshan move his saddlebags inside as Baram took care of Keshan’s horse. Yudar offered Keshan a grass mat to sit by the water’s edge. Their location was stunning—great green-covered mountain peaks jutted from a lake so calm the surface seemed like crystal. Keshan sat with the Parans and caught them up on world events, knowing they were desperate for news, hungry for a new face around the fire.

Keshan didn’t disappoint. He was a fantastic, florid storyteller, his eyes growing wide and expressive, his hands moving in jarring, exaggerated gestures, as he mimicked the king and his lords, recounted disputes and whispered gossip. As he spoke, he could feel Jandu’s eyes upon him, watching his gold bangles jangle with each flick of his wrist.

Yudar ate up the news of the kingdom hungrily, his eyes shining brightly. His expression remained rapt and focused, only clouding over when Keshan mentioned the numerous small skirmishes being led by the new Royal Judge, Tarek.

Yudar seemed poised to ask a question, but then thought better of it. He shook his head and smiled. “I never thought I would miss the position of Royal Judge as much as I do.”

“I thought you were in line for the position, Keshan,” Baram stated. He sat down beside Keshan and offered him another glass of water.

Keshan shrugged. “I think my politics are too radical for even Darvad. But Tarek is a good man, and I believe he will do what is right for Marhavad.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Jandu poked at the dirt with a stick, clearly bored by the discussion already. The idea made Keshan smile. At least one part of Jandu’s personality had not changed.

“I have some small gifts for you,” Keshan told them, retrieving his saddle bags.

“Adaru, your presence is a great enough gift for all of us,” Yudar said, bringing his hands together in the sign of peace.

Keshan dug through the bags and handed out gifts. He offered Baram a bag of aromatic basmati rice from the south, salt and palm oil. He opened a cask of wine and shared it with his cousins, and while Baram and Yudar weren’t looking, pressed into Jandu’s hands a small leather purse of gold coins. He gave perfume and a new zahari for Suraya, as well as a bolt of white cotton cloth. While she admired the zahari, Keshan inquired after her baby.

Suraya rubbed her belly fondly and smiled. “I think it will be three more months.” She shook her head. “That’s all I can take, too. This child is heavy.”

“He’s Baram’s child, what do you expect?”

After their meal, Yudar and Baram made Keshan a bed on the floor of the main hut by piling their grass mats and their blankets together for him. Keshan protested when he saw that this meant they would sleep on the packed-earth floor, uncovered, but they insisted. Jandu rested his hand on Keshan’s head for a long, sweet moment, and then reached down to take the dust from Keshan’s feet before he turned in for the night. It was such a formal gesture, and one that Keshan had always hated. Now though, in front of Jandu’s family, Jandu made the gesture seem almost erotic, the emotions behind the touch true and overpowering, Jandu’s hands resting on Keshan’s feet a second longer than tradition, as if holding him to make sure he were real, as if transferring to him his love and hope. Then, with a sad smile, Jandu left to sleep with Suraya.

◆◆◆

As soon as the sun rose the following morning, Baram left for the village, taking some of the gold Keshan brought. After drinking tea with Suraya and Yudar, Jandu begged Keshan to hunt with him. They walked down the main pilgrim’s trail until Jandu jerked to a halt, tilting his head to hear something. He quickly pulled Keshan into the dense forest and the two hid behind bushes until a group of holy men passed by.

Keshan hadn’t thought much about what it must be like to hide from every passerby. Now he watched the tension harden Jandu’s muscles, his shoulders pull in, watched the way Jandu’s eyes darted up and down the trail for other witnesses. Keshan wearied of the anxiety in minutes. He couldn’t imagine living this way for over a year.

“Come on.” As soon as the trail was clear, Jandu led him back along the path until they cut once more into the woods. They walked together in companionable silence, and Keshan relaxed alongside him, enjoying the way Jandu’s body moved through the forest like a predator, on edge yet assured.

After felling two junglefowl, Jandu settled down in a mossy clearing to rest.

“Play me a song,” Jandu said. He grinned at Keshan, pointing at the velvet pouch on Keshan’s belt that always held his flute. “Play that Jandu song you wrote. It’s your best song.”

Keshan smirked. “Of course you’d think so. But I better not play. I think I better teach.”

Jandu frowned. “What do you mean?”

Keshan took out his flute and used it to point at Jandu.

“You are going to spend the last year of your exile hiding in Afadi, right?”

Jandu nodded.

“And you will be looking for work with Lord Indarel?”

“That’s the plan.” Jandu leaned against a log and stretched his long legs on the mossy ground.

“Is that when you will be hiding as a woman?”

Jandu looked away. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“It seems like as good of a year as any. No one will suspect you in such a disguise. Darvad’s spies are looking for a man with blue eyes, not a woman. And if you do go to Lord Indarel as a female servant, you will need to have a skill. Archery and combat training will not get you work if you are wearing a zahari and have your hair up in ribbons.” Keshan blew a solitary note on his instrument. Several birds above them took off in surprise.

Jandu narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“Become a music teacher,” Keshan said. “That’s a respectable profession for a young woman, and one that is always needed in noble palaces. Indarel has teenaged children. I’m sure he would love a tutor for them.”

Jandu shook his head. “I don’t know anything about music. ”

“Exactly. So I’m going to teach you now.” Keshan blew a long, trilling note. “Besides, it could help your begging. People always prefer to get something for their donation.”

Jandu snorted. “Keshan, you may be a good teacher, and I have a brilliant mind. But I doubt we have enough time for me to master the flute.”

“You’re a quick learner.” He handed Jandu the flute.

Jandu looked down at the instrument. “I don’t know about this.”

“It’s easy.” Keshan leaned forward so his breath fell on Jandu’s neck. “Just put your lips upon the tip and blow.”

A soft pink tint colored Jandu’s cheeks. He raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

Keshan smiled coyly. “Put your fingers along the shaft. Like this.” He helped position Jandu’s fingers on the flute. Their fingers moved together along the smooth silver. Keshan could hear Jandu’s breathing change.

 “Good.” Keshan gently guided the flute to Jandu’s lips. “Blow.”

Jandu produced a sour note that once again set the whitethroats to complaint. He shook his head and handed the instrument back to Keshan. He put his hand on Keshan’s leg again.

“I’d rather blow something else.”

“Later,” Keshan said, although he was sorely tempted. “You have to work at this. Now practice.”

“This isn’t going to work. I don’t even have a flute.”

“You could borrow mine,” Keshan offered, although the idea of being parted from his beloved instrument hurt.

Jandu shook his head. “Absolutely not. That would be like taking my bow away from me. Maybe I could be the first woman archery teacher in Marhavad…”

Keshan suddenly had an idea. “Zandi!”

“What?”

Keshan put his own flute down and reached around Jandu, grabbing his magnificent bow. Keshan placed Zandi on the ground before them and whispered a sharta.

They watched silently as Zandi slowly compressed and turned into a pool of liquid metal. The pool shrank further, coalescing into a long flute, the metal shimmering and shifting in the light, swirls of burnished color dancing between the valves.

Keshan laughed. He gently lifted Zandi. “Just ask her to change when you need her.” Keshan stroked the instrument. The metal was still warm, and the valves seem to anticipate his touch, depressing effortlessly. “It’s almost a shame to waste such a beautiful instrument on you.”

Jandu gaped in horror. “What have you done? Turn her back!”

Keshan whispered to Zandi, stroking her as he gave a simple Yashva spell for change. The flute vibrated in his hand, and metamorphosed into the bow once more. The second the bow returned, Jandu pulled it away from Keshan.

“Stop playing with my things.”

Keshan raised an eyebrow. “Glad to see you haven’t become completely humble in your exile.”

Jandu slumped against the log once more, stroking Zandi protectively. “I’m going to be emasculated enough when I turn into a woman. Did you think I would look forward to you taking my weapon from me as well?”