The Archer's Heart (5 page)

Darvad lowered his bow and smiled at Keshan, bringing his palms together in the traditional sign of peace. The other men followed, except for Iyestar, who just came over and hugged Keshan brusquely.

“What took you so long? Did you get lost?” Iyestar frowned slightly at Jandu.

“I was just chatting with Jandu,” Keshan said, raising his hands to return the sign of peace.

Jandu bowed his head politely. “I should go…”

“Stay.” Keshan touched his arm. “I still haven’t found out how you shot the eye of Suraya’s fish.”

The other men seemed uncomfortable with Jandu’s presence, but quickly turned back to their competition. Keshan sat down on an embroidered rug that had been laid out on the hot cobblestones and, with obvious hesitation, Jandu joined him.

“Once I realized that the pool was like a mirror, reversing everything, hitting the eye was just a matter of timing.” Jandu described how he counted the rotations of the fish as it spun. Keshan barely watched the men practicing in front of him, his eyes focused intently on Jandu.

“I already knew I could do it, I just didn’t have a reason until you called me out,” Jandu said.

“I’m sorry I challenged you,” Keshan said. “I couldn’t help myself. I’m a troublemaker.”

 The two of them gossiped about other lords and some of the more exotic performances that had apparently caused a scandal during the festival. Talking to Jandu came easily, and Keshan had to admit that he enjoyed the respite from constant political and religious debate.

As they chatted, they watched Darvad and his companions challenge each other. Darvad, Tarek, Druv and Firdaus took turns shooting at the target. After each round, the men would recollect their arrows, using each warrior’s unique markings on the shaft of the arrow to determine the winner. Iyestar’s role seemed to be purely for encouragement, yelling at them while he lounged on the sidelines.

Keshan did not excel at archery. Nevertheless, he knew a good archer when he saw one. Tarek’s movements were swift and seamless. Tarek always hit the bull’s eye. He won every round. And when Darvad complained that it was impossible to beat Tarek at anything, Tarek volunteered to start shooting with his left hand.

“I’m surprised you aren’t jumping up and joining in,” Keshan said to Jandu, keeping his voice low.

Jandu stretched out and propped himself up on his elbows. He watched the competition with a bored expression.

“Well, I wouldn’t want anyone to see that Tarek is actually better than me.”

Keshan stared at him, shocked.

Jandu smiled. “Just kidding. But actually, I have a bad feeling it’d be close. And then I’d have to respect him. But it would be disloyal to my brother if I befriended Tarek.”

Keshan started to explain that they too would have a similar problem if they remained friends. But then Jandu said, “Besides, Tarek is a Suya.”

Keshan shut his mouth. What was he doing? Sitting here with a man so full of himself that he considered himself better than Tarek simply by birthright?

Keshan shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, Jandu had grown up surrounded by Triya religious zealots, and the tenet they revered before all others was the Shentari hierarchy. 

The Triya are God’s chosen lords .The world is given to them to rule and to defend. They alone will hold the holy secrets of the Shartas.

The Draya  are God’s messengers. They will keep the temples and pray for their Triya lords.

The Suya are God’s workers and will create in God’s name.

The Chaya are God’s servants and will serve the people of God and work God’s land.

The Jegora are the outcaste, scourges in God’s eyes and unworthy of God.

The belief that the Suya, Chaya and Jegora were lesser people, less entitled, was so woven in the very fabric of Marhavadi culture that even intelligent, well-meaning people like Jandu found themselves incapable of thinking otherwise.

“I’ve competed against Tarek before, you know, ” Jandu said. “It was during the Mahri Competition. The challenge was open to all Triya, but usually only the sons of the wealthiest lords ever compete. And then Tarek showed up, wearing cotton, looking poor and,” Jandu gave Keshan a sideways look, “—very underdressed.”

“You will never forget that, will you?” Keshan asked.

Jandu smirked. “We all mocked Tarek, of course. But then he started shooting arrows with unparalleled accuracy. When he released the bowstring, he stood still as stone, his gaze unwavering. I had never seen anyone like him.”

Keshan looked up to where Tarek took his turn at the target. Jandu was right; the man became statuesque, it looked as though he did not even breathe. A whirr sounded, and the arrow smashed through the wooden target to strike bull’s eye once more.

“I remember being excited,” Jandu continued. “My whole life, I have always been unrivaled in archery and here stood a man who could truly challenge me.” Jandu looked almost wistful, a smile on his face, his eyes closed.

But then he sighed. “Then Yudar pointed out this old charioteer who had entered the arena, and announced that the man was Tarek’s father. Tarek was Suya and he never intended to tell anyone.”

“What happened then?” Keshan watched Tarek, feeling instantly sorry for what the man had probably gone through that day.

Jandu shrugged. “He was humiliated, of course, and thrown out of the competition. But then Darvad stood up and called him a great warrior.”

Keshan nodded. That action alone fuelled his support of Darvad.

“Darvad gave Tarek the State of Dragewan then and there, swearing lifelong friendship… completely insane.” Jandu sat back up, staring at the two men being discussed. “They’re inseparable now.”

Keshan spoke hesitantly. “Well, it would be within Darvad’s power to raise Tarek to a Triya once he’s king. Only the king can change God’s castes.”

“But he isn’t king yet and he isn’t going to be. Yudar is the rightful heir.” Jandu frowned at Keshan. “I thought we weren’t going to talk politics. I hate politics. I shouldn’t even be here.”

Jandu stood to leave, when suddenly Darvad called out to him. Jandu turned back to his half-brother, showing no dislike, but definitely no affection either.

“Go tell Mazar that I will be late to dinner this evening,” Darvad said.

“Have a servant tell him,” Jandu said.

“Mazar is in his private chambers. I need you to tell him for me.”

Everyone else in the garden stopped what they were doing. A thick tension simmered, Keshan felt waves of animosity radiating off of Jandu. But Jandu was younger than Darvad, and the same traditions that dictated Jandu’s disdain for Tarek also made it impossible for him to refuse a demand from an older relative.

 “All right.” Jandu turned and frowned at Keshan. “I’ll see you later.” Jandu bent down to take the dust from Keshan’s feet.

Keshan reached down and stopped him. He held Jandu’s arms.

“Don’t do that,” Keshan said quietly.

“You’re my elder,” Jandu said. He narrowed his eyes at Darvad. “I always respect my elders.”

“I know. But don’t.” Keshan kept hold of Jandu’s arms, feeling the sinewy muscles flexing beneath soft skin. “It doesn’t suit us.”

Jandu stared at Keshan for a moment longer, and then turned away. As he walked away, Keshan shook his head. What was he doing?

“Keshan!” Darvad called, “come shoot with us.”

He took the bow Darvad offered, forcing the excitement of Jandu’s touch from his mind. He had a mission to fulfill. And the person who was going to do that was Darvad, not Jandu.

Chapter 5

Tarek dreamed of the river.

He always dreamed of the river on nights when he had difficulty falling asleep, as if his mind returned to the source of everything.

In his dream, he was a young boy, crying for help. Other times he thrashed in the water, demanding that it stop. He was never at peace in the river. There was something timeless and unforgiving in its nature, the way it cut through everything indiscriminately, the way it never stopped to reason.

Tarek awoke in terror.

It took him a minute to get his bearings. After having spent thirty years of his life living in his parent’s one-room shack beside the banks of the Yaru, it still surprised him to wake up in a broad bed with silk sheets, without the smell of the river overwhelming him. His eyes adjusted to the early morning light streaming into the room through two open balconies.

The stone sculpture of the prophet Harami in the corner of the room, the woodcarving above his bed, the garish pinks and greens of the furniture, overstuffed pillows, vases with peacock feathers—all of it had been here when he had acquired Dragewan’s townhouse. Tarek suddenly felt disgusted by it all. Now that this ornate manor belonged to him, he would see the gaudy decor stripped.

“Attendant!” Tarek shouted. He was angry at himself for not knowing the man’s name. Truthfully, he’d spent a month or two at most in this house since it was granted to him. Most of his time was occupied in the royal palace.           

“Yes, my lord?” A squat, balding man stood with his head bowed, avoiding eye contact.

“Call the house steward. I want all the decorations in this room removed.”

If the servant found the request strange, he said nothing. “Yes, my lord.”

Tarek stretched and stepped out of bed. He realized the servant remained.

“You can go.”

The servant hesitated. “My lord? What would you like the decorations replaced with?”

Tarek frowned. “Nothing. I want bare walls. One chair. That’s it.”

“Yes, my lord.” The servant bowed deeply and fled the room.

Tarek watched him go. He should really be nicer. He wasn’t comfortable with having servants, and so he didn’t know how to treat them.

Tarek wasn’t much more than a servant himself. He was the son of a charioteer, a servant of the wealthy Triya caste. His father now resided in a large manor in Dragewan, but his hands were arthritic claws, useless after years of tightly gripping reins. His health had failed, and even with the care of the best physicians, Tarek knew his father’s death approached.

Still, Tarek had to be grateful. His father could spend the last of his days in comfort, being fed by servants of his own, enjoying the warm springs of the Dragewan palace grounds, luxuriating in the views of the perfect garden. What more could Tarek have wished for?

Well, he could have had his mother with him as well. She died two years earlier when fever had swept through their village. Tarek was not over it. He would never be over it. His parents had been his whole world.

Tarek dressed quickly, in light blue trousers and golden armor. He wore a gray harafa scarf over his chest, and put on the ruby and diamond rings that had been given to him since he had become lord of Dragewan a year ago. He still wore the plain gold earrings he had been given by his mother, the only trace of his life prior to his rise of power.

Tarek owned several diadems. Remembering his appointment with Darvad for breakfast, Tarek chose the heaviest of them all, a golden crown studded with sapphires that would match the rest of his outfit. Darvad liked to see him in all his finery.

As his charioteer prepared the horses, one of Dragewan’s state ministers approached Tarek, requesting a review of some documents. Tarek looked them over briefly, and made a few recommendations, however he left most of the decisions up to them. He was not trained in governance, and he trusted his ministers with most of the important details of running the state. Dragewan was small and by no means wealthy, but it could keep its people fed with income from its copper mines. For that, Tarek was grateful. Darvad could have granted him territory with nothing, after all.

The chariot ride from his house to the palace was short, but the journey was slow this morning as workmen with rickety wagons congested the wide, shaded boulevards surrounding Tarek’s townhouse.     

Once inside the palace, a servant led Tarek to Darvad’s private quarters. Tarek hoped to be the first one there, as he disliked sharing Darvad with other friends and advisors. Happily, Tarek arrived early enough to catch Darvad alone. Darvad smiled as Tarek entered the room and embraced him warmly.

Darvad was pure muscle, every part of his body toned, chiseled, and perfected. He had joyful brown eyes and brown hair that remained permanently restricted under the massive gold diadem that Darvad perpetually wore. Darvad also wore large earrings, shaped like maces, and had on bright golden armor inlaid with the image of the sun.

He looked beautiful to Tarek. And that was a problem.

Tarek had known his entire life that he found men attractive. It was simply a fact of nature. He kept his desires to himself, and other than a few discreet encounters, had left his sexuality to wander off by itself, starve, and die. He had no interest in endangering the reputation of his family or himself just for a quick fuck. He had enough of an active imagination to amuse himself.

But Darvad was the first man that Tarek had fallen in love with. And he knew that Darvad did not reciprocate his feelings, which made the situation worse.

Spending all his time with someone he loved who didn’t love him back hurt like a physical pain. The torment worsened the more time Tarek spent with his friend. If he stayed away from Darvad, he could purge the desire from his mind. But he missed Darvad terribly. And when he saw Darvad, his gratitude at being with him subdued his inappropriate cravings, for a time. But they would eventually flare up again, demanding attention, and it drove Tarek mad simply standing in the same room as Darvad without proclaiming his affections.

“How are you today?” Tarek asked.

“I’m wonderful. Druv and I were discussing matters last night, and we’ve come up with a brilliant idea.” Darvad sat at the low table once more, patting the cushion beside him. “Come, sit down. Eat something.”

Tarek sat down and let servants fill his cup with sweet, milky tea. Steaming jasmine rice, eggs, and a bowl of fresh mangoes were placed before him.

As Tarek ate, he studied Darvad’s handsome features, letting himself indulge momentarily.

They spoke of Tarek’s father, and for a moment, happiness overwhelmed Tarek. The sweet taste of mango on his lips, the sight of his best friend by his side, discussing Tarek’s family warmly, it felt as though no other problems existed.

But the illusion shattered as soon as Druv joined them.

Tarek liked Druv Majeo, the dashing young lord of Pagdesh. He was a popular and well-connected man with excessive political savvy. He shared his ample wealth with his friends and allies, and reputedly maintained a vast and powerful network of spies throughout Marhavad that none could rival. Darvad regularly sought Druv’s counsel, because Druv knew the happenings in every state, at any given time.

Druv and Darvad exchanged warm greetings and then Druv took his place at the breakfast table. Tarek asked after Druv’s wife, who had just given birth to Druv’s third child.

But the amiable talk ended immediately thereafter. And this was why Tarek’s spirits always sank when Druv appeared. A politician above everything else, Druv could not stop talking business.           

“Did Darvad tell you our new plan to win over the more traditional lords to Darvad’s ascension?” Druv asked Tarek.

Tarek shook his head. “I haven’t heard.”

“Yudar’s influence over the religious lords is powerful,” Darvad said. “We have to find a way to guarantee that the traditionalist states give me their support.”

“And that’s where you come in, Tarek,” Druv said, smiling devilishly. He shoveled rice into his mouth as he spoke. “You are going to be our greatest weapon against Yudar’s ascension to the throne.”

Weariness washed over Tarek. He did not want to be anyone’s political puppet, not even Darvad’s.

But then Darvad placed his hand tenderly on Tarek’s arm. Tarek’s heart surged towards Darvad, hungry for the attention.

Tarek nodded. “What do I have to do?”

“Fight them.” Darvad grinned, his food forgotten, focused entirely on Tarek. “Sit down with them, eat with them. They will be so offended that a Suya has shared their food that they will challenge you to duel. You fight them, with the condition that if they surrender, they must support my claim to the throne over Yudar’s.”

Darvad and Druv both laughed. They seemed oblivious to the notion that Tarek might not want to offend and then fight other lords.

But, Tarek reminded himself, he had taken a holy oath to stand by Darvad’s side. The day that Darvad had proclaimed eternal friendship to Tarek and granted him lordship, Tarek had sworn to protect Darvad with his life. He would not break his oath.

Soon Iyestar and his brother Keshan also joined them, followed, moments later, by Firdaus. As they ate, Darvad informed them of the new plan. Iyestar didn’t like it.

“You will only make them hate Tarek,” Iyestar cautioned. “Not love you.”          

“We only need them to agree to support me until Mazar makes his decision,” Darvad said. “Once he sees that even the traditionalists are supporting my claim, Mazar will have no choice but to select me over Yudar.”

It hurt Tarek’s pride to have to remind them of this, but it had to be said. “There is another problem. Since I am Suya, by traditional challenging rules, they can use magical shartas. They’ll slaughter me.”

In truth, even if Tarek were allowed to use magical weapons, he didn’t know any. Only the Triya knew shartas, and these were carefully passed down generations in sacred traditions. The shartas were enchanted, said to come from the Yashva demons. They were hard to wield and even harder to withdraw. And some of them were devastating, capable of destroying entire armies, burning men to ash with a single word.  

“I can teach Tarek a sharta from my people. None of the other lords will recognize it,” Firdaus said casually, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “It  can be uttered before the challenge begins, and so you will be armed and ready to defend yourself.”

“Brilliant!” Darvad cried. “What do you think, Tarek?”

Tarek just nodded. He would do it because of his vow, and because he loved Darvad. But that did not mean he liked the idea.

Darvad leaned over and scooped some of his food onto Tarek’s plate. “I know you love the crunchy rice,” Darvad whispered.

“I’ll host a dinner next week,” Druv announced. “I’ll invite some of Yudar’s supporters, and we can put the plan into action.”

“What I don’t understand is why you don’t simply challenge Yudar yourself, Darvad,” Firdaus said. “Yudar is a scholar and not a warrior. You would win easily.”

 “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Keshan said casually, nodding to Firdaus. “Jandu Paran would most likely fight in Yudar’s place. ”

 “So you think Jandu is a better warrior than me?” Darvad asked.

Keshan cocked an eyebrow. “Are you willing to chance it?”

“No,” Darvad admitted.

Keshan offered Darvad a warm smile. “It’s a rare man who has the wisdom to know when he shouldn’t fight.”

Darvad obviously appreciated the turn of the conversation but Firdaus looked disgusted.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,” Firdaus said lowly. He shot Keshan a cold glare and then made his way to the door. He left the room without another word.

An awkward silence ensued as the four men watched the heavy door fall shut.

“Good,” Iyestar said, as soon as Firdaus was out of earshot. “That man is trouble, Darvad.”

Druv laughed. Darvad just shrugged. “I know, he is strange. But he is powerful, and we need him on our side. Besides, he is part-Yashva, and has many tricks in his mind.”

“I’m part Yashva,” Keshan pointed out. “And so is Iyestar.”

“Yeah,” Iyestar said. “It’s not all it’s made out to be.”

Keshan helped himself to eggs. “Your chef is fantastic, Darvad. I could eat here every meal.”

Darvad smiled back. “You are welcome to.”

Tarek watched Keshan eat. Tarek considered Keshan attractive, but in a soft, pretty way, rather than in the way that Darvad was handsome, masculine and strong.

“That is a beautiful pendant you have there,” Druv said, pointing to the large pearl around Keshan’s neck.

Keshan glanced down at the pendant and smiled. “Do you think so? My favorite artisan in Tiwari made it for me. It has the words of the Jandaivo prayer engraved on the back.”

Druv admired it for a moment longer, and then turned his attentions back to Darvad.

“So we’re going through with this plan? Tarek?”

“Of course,” Tarek agreed.

Darvad nodded. But he eyed Keshan carefully. “It’s good to have you with us Keshan, but I can’t imagine that you’ve come just to bask in my company. There’s something you want, isn’t there?”

“Your company is a delight,” Keshan replied. “But yes, I have something to ask you to consider.”

Keshan reached into his pouch and pulled out a long scroll. He unrolled it and placed it in front of Darvad.

“I have listed here some of the current laws I would recommend changing once you become king,” Keshan said. “They are the primary laws responsible for the degradation of the lower classes. I would like them abolished.”

Keshan stared at Darvad, as if challenging him to disagree.

Tarek did not know Keshan very well. But he knew Iyestar, and knew that the Adaru family was noble and loyal. The idea of someone from such proud lineage working to improve the lives of lower caste members touched Tarek.

Darvad seemed somewhat annoyed to have his breakfast ruined with law, but this did not stop Keshan. Keshan began reading the laws as they currently existed, reciting them by heart rather than reading off the scroll.

“According to the Book of Taivo, if a Chaya caste member harms or kills a Suya, the punishment shall be lashes. But if a Chaya caste members harms or kills a Triya, the punishment shall be death. If a Suya caste member harms or kills a Chaya, the punishment is only a fine, but if a Suya harms or kills a Triya outside of a formal challenge, the punishment is lashes and imprisonment.”