The Archer's Heart (52 page)

They held each other silently, panting, and the rest of the world seemed to grow silent. The noises of the street disappeared, all of the bird calls died, the neighbors moved away, the flies landed. Even the smells faded. The only world left was theirs, their chests rising and falling in the aftermath of their romance. Jandu slowly slipped from inside of Keshan, and rolled onto his back.

Keshan rose and used a cloth to clean Jandu and himself. He shook out his dejaru, wishing it were cleaner. He ran his hands through his hair to bring it to order, wincing as the motion caused a shock of pain on the backs of his hands.

Jandu sighed and stood as well, returning once more to his pile of supplies. As he walked across the room naked, Keshan admired his tight backside, the loose hang of his genitals.

Jandu tied his dark green dejaru loose, like a long skirt. He wrapped a green and gold sash around his waist, and pulled on a white silk vest. He strapped on his sandals and then smiled shyly at Keshan. Jandu looked so beautiful, strong and sleek.

Once Jandu was fully dressed, he reached back into his sack and pulled out a black cotton shirt. It was long and looked like it belonged to a Marshavi tradesman. The fringe frayed slightly, but it otherwise looked and smelled clean.

Jandu handed it to Keshan.

“I can’t wear that if it isn’t from a dead body,” Keshan said.

“So tell people it’s from a dead body. People won’t really notice unless it looks nice, and this looks old.” Jandu raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me after a lifetime of lying you have suddenly chosen a path of honesty?”

Keshan pulled it on, relieved by its cleanliness and the warmth. It had been weeks since the top of his body was covered; he hadn’t realized how vulnerable he had felt since he had been stripped back in Afadi.

“Thank you. For everything,” Keshan added. “For the food, the clothing… bringing clean sheets, for God’s sake.” Keshan looked down at his tunic. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Jandu hugged him. “You’re suffering this because of me. But I swear I will fix this. I will make it right for you once more.” He tenderly stroked Keshan’s face.

 “I have to go see Iyestar.” Keshan steadied his resolve. “I have to tell him what happened.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Jandu asked.

Keshan shook his head. “I think this will be less horrible if it’s just my brother and I.”  He pulled from Jandu’s embrace.

“What do you think he’s going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Keshan took a deep breath, and then opened the door.

“Be careful. I’ll be here when you return.”

“I’ll be back soon.” Keshan hesitated in the doorway. In here, despite the gloomy atmosphere and smell, he was safe. Outside, he was hated once more. But waiting would not make Iyestar any less angry.

Keshan slipped outside, and made his way home.

◆◆◆

The news of impending war already passed from house to house, and as Keshan walked down his old street, he saw more neighbors than usual outside, discussing the impending battle with their fellow lords.

Keshan cursed his own popularity. As he slunk from shadow to shadow, he tried to go unnoticed, but his face was too recognizable, and too many lords and ladies caught sight of him and whispered.

At the Adaru townhouse, activity filled the brick courtyard. Chezek was there, obviously just back from some task for Keshan’s brother. He lounged against the chariot, chewing betel leaves, and barking orders to the stable hands. When he turned and saw Keshan at the gate, his face broke into a smile and he ran to open the gate for Keshan.

“My lord! Welcome home!” Chezek leaned down to touch Keshan’s feet.

He quickly stepped back, so Chezek would not touch him.

Chezek straightened, looking hurt. “My lord?”

Keshan straightened his arms. Chezek grabbed his lantern and hovered the light over the backs of Keshan hands. Even in the dim lamplight, Keshan saw Chezek pale.

“My lord! I can’t believe… So it’s true.”

“Would you fetch my brother for me?” Keshan asked anxiously.

Chezek closed his eyes and shivered. When he looked back at Keshan, he had tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”

“You have to stop calling me that,” Keshan said quietly. God, he was going to have to go through this painful moment a hundred times or more. “Call me Keshan. I’m not a lord anymore.”

Chezek licked his lips. “Keshan.” He seemed uncomfortable with the word. “I’ll fetch Lord Iyestar for you.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as Chezek left, Keshan moved to the front of the chariot and stroked his horse’s face. The horse snorted and nuzzled Keshan’s palm affectionately. His other stallion bent his neck and gave Keshan big soft eyes, begging for attention.

“Oh fine, hello to you too,” Keshan cooed to them. As soon as he heard the front door open, he stepped back quickly. He wasn’t sure if Iyestar would forbid him from touching their animals.

Iyestar stormed out of the building, his hair wet from his ablutions, his eyes blurry with alcohol. When he saw Keshan at the gate he smiled widely.

“About time!” Iyestar scolded him, hands on his hips.

“There’s going to be a war between the Parans and Darvad,” Keshan said.

Iyestar stopped smiling. “So I’ve heard. Will you fight with Darvad?”

“No. I won’t be fighting at all.” Keshan took a deep breath and held his hands out for Iyestar to see them.

At first, Iyestar didn’t believe it. He kept shaking his head. “This is one of your sick jokes.”

“I wish it was.”

 “It’s impossible!” Iyestar suddenly exploded. “Keshan! You fucking idiot! What have you done?”

The stable hands all froze in place, watching the confrontation.

“I think we should discuss this somewhere more private,” Keshan said quietly.

Iyestar stormed towards the house. Keshan reached out to touch him, and then stopped.

“Wait, Iyestar.” Keshan sighed in annoyance. “I can’t go in there.”

“Damn you! God damn you!” Iyestar had tears in his eyes. He raised his fist as if to strike Keshan, thought twice about it, and instead reached down and took off his sandal. He threw it at Keshan’s head. It glanced off of Keshan’s arm. “You fucking idiot!”

Keshan made his way back behind the stables. It was one of the few places where the Jegora were allowed to come and go freely. Several other Jegora were there working and they cowered as Keshan rounded the corner. Iyestar followed him, cursing the entire time, and then finally took off his other shoe and hurled it at Keshan.

Keshan leaned against the wall behind the stable and slid to a crouch on the ground.

Iyestar looked around, broke a low branch off the nearby banyan, and swung it at Keshan. Keshan blocked the blow, but Iyestar was fast at hand-to-hand combat, and whacked Keshan a second time in the face.

“Are you done?” Keshan snapped at him.

“No!” Iyestar was crying now. He beat at Keshan. Keshan huddled into a ball and curled his arms around himself protectively. “You are such a bastard! What are we going to do now? What are we going to do?” Iyestar’s voice broke with a sob. He dropped the branch and went to pieces, collapsing to the ground and sobbing into his hands. Keshan watched him cry, his body stinging from his brother’s blows.

Iyestar’s performance attracted all of the nearby servants. “Go away!” Keshan hissed at them. They scattered immediately, leaving the back entrance to the two brothers alone.

Iyestar’s whole body shook. Keshan wanted to hug him. But he couldn’t. The fact that Iyestar was actually abiding the rules of his brother’s casteless state knifed through him. He had hoped for more loyalty. He had hoped Iyestar would embrace him and offer him his old room back. It was the ultimate irony, Keshan thought, that of all people, only Jandu ignored Keshan’s brands.

Everything was over for him. He knew it was vain to care about how people thought of him, but that was just the way he was. And now the people whose respect he wanted the most were staring at him like he was trash. It was too much to see. Keshan lowered his gaze to the ground, grateful that his hair hung over his face, obscuring it from sight.

Iyestar finally wiped his eyes and stared at Keshan. “I’d heard rumors, but I truly thought it was some joke of yours. Tell me what happened.”

Keshan explained about Firdaus, Jandu, and the curse. Iyestar seemed to calm down slightly as Keshan finished the story.

“Jandu has asked me to be his charioteer in the war, and I accepted. Until then, I will live in rented lodgings,” Keshan said. “If Yudar becomes king, he will elevate me to Triya once more.”

Iyestar’s eyes were red. “If there’s a war, I have to fight on Darvad’s side. I’m his ally.”

“I know.”

“We’ll be fighting on opposite sides.”

“I know.” Keshan swallowed.

Iyestar shook his head. “I can’t believe Darvad let this happen. He can change you back right now. I’ll beg him to change you back.”

“It won’t matter what you say. It was part of his conditions, he has to stand by them.” Keshan sighed.        

“So you would fight for that bastard Yudar?” Iyestar asked.

“No.” Keshan needed his brother to understand. “I would fight for Jandu.”

“And what of your mission, Keshan?” Iyestar sneered. “I thought that was all that mattered! Our entire life, you have risked everything for your cause. You have driven us all mad with your singular purpose. And now you have forgotten everything? You will go and fight for a man who opposes the very equality you have fought so hard for?”

“My powers are gone,” Keshan said. “I can do little now, in the state I am in. Everything is gone. All I have left is Jandu.”

Iyestar grimaced. “And what about us? Ajani, and mother and I? Your family?”

“Will you let me inside?” Keshan asked.

Iyestar closed his eyes. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

“Will you?” Keshan’s fear and sadness gave way to his sense of betrayal. “I am still your brother, am I not? Will you open your door to an untouchable, and let the world see that the Tiwari household continues to love his noble son?”

“We’ll be ostracized,” Iyestar said quietly. “We’ll be disgraced.”

Keshan’s heart felt pulverized. “So it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m dead to you anyway.”

Iyestar shook his head. He wiped his eyes once more and then motioned towards Keshan’s brands. “I hope Jandu is worth it.”

Keshan nodded. “He is.”

Chapter 47

T
AREK AWOKE TO WARMTH.

The smell of almonds, warm hair, sun-burned flesh. Dark and musky smells, masculine smells. Tarek looked at Anant’s sleeping face, and something light and joyful ignited in his heart. It wasn’t fire—this was not like his all-consuming, bone-shattering passion for Darvad—this was weaker, quieter. It didn’t glow, but it was present, persistent, safe.

It was enough.

Since Tarek’s return to Prasta, he had spent most of his time working with Darvad to prepare Darvad’s allies for the impending war. But the little time he had to himself, he saved for Anant. There had been no need for apologies with him, no need to prove his worth. Even when Tarek did something as disgraceful as brand a friend for acting honorably, Anant forgave him. Anant accepted Tarek wholly. Knowing that someone loved him, unconditionally and truthfully, gave Tarek the strength he needed to sit through the countless meetings and strategy sessions with Darvad and his commanders.

Of the eleven states of Marhavad, six would fight in support of King Darvad. Only five states allied with the Parans, giving Darvad the advantage, especially since some of the Paran allies had little or no military experience at all.

Priests in Prasta identified an auspicious date to begin the war. As if knowing that time was short, the monsoon finally arrived. The skies burst and rains drenched the north of Marhavad with endless torrents of fresh water. Streets turned into rivers. Splashes of mud appeared in the driest of places. The world seemed to weep for the fates of the 100,000 men who would fight and die to decide, once and for all, the king of Marhavad.

The numbers overwhelmed Tarek. There had never been a war this large in all of Marhavad’s history. Even Tarek’s warrior’s blood chilled at the thought of so many men, in such a small arena of combat.

Tarek had tried to impart upon Darvad the importance of changing those last few laws regarding caste, now, before the war. With the laws as they currently stood, the Suya and Chaya would only be able to fight men of their own castes. But the Triya would have uncontrolled reign to slaughter the lower-caste men at will. It was as tradition as old as the Triya. But after Tarek’s own humiliation with Lord Sahdin, when he stood practically defenseless before the man’s attacks, his will to change the law was paramount.

Darvad nodded and agreed that the rules should be changed for the war, but when it came down to actually making it into law, Darvad never had time. No matter how hard Tarek pressed him, Darvad found other preparations to take precedence. Not for the first time, Tarek thought of Keshan Adaru, and how he used to hound Darvad. The thought made Tarek try harder. He had to pass these laws, if only to help assuage his guilt over ruining Keshan’s life.

As the first harvests came after the swelling monsoon, Tarek refocused his energies into organizing the Dragewan soldiers to assist with the harvest. Even he took part, traveling to Dragewan to confirm enough food could be collected to feed the massive beast that was becoming Darvad’s army. Grains and hay were loaded onto hundreds of carts to be taken to the battlefield. Horses began their journey to Terashu early, to set an easy pace that would not exhaust the animals before the battle had begun. The armory worked day and night forging shields, swords, and helmets.

And in the evenings, after an exhausting, endless routine of tense preparation, Tarek would return to find Anant waiting for him, eager, eyes wide and bright, ready to take Tarek’s mind off the future, and what predicaments awaited within it.

Now, on the morning of his departure, Tarek roused to the smells and sights of his lover, and found that he was pleased with his decision. Anant had been the right choice. Anant did not instill in Tarek the kind of dangerous obsession Darvad did, but Anant reciprocated. He understood.

Tarek rarely had the luxury of addressing his morning desires. But now he could. He reached his hands down, under the sheets, and watched Anant wake up slowly, his eyes shooting open in surprise when Anant realized what Tarek was doing.

They smiled at each other. Quiet, safe, sweetness.

Tarek rolled Anant over, stroked his back tenderly, his powerful thighs, the musky darkness between. Tarek started their lovemaking tenderly enough, but he was always consumed with a desire to ravish Anant by the end of it, take him forcefully, almost violently. There was something about Anant’s passivity that brought brutish desire to the forefront of Tarek’s mind. He bit at Anant’s skin, his hands groping him fiercely in the morning light, and Anant became still, his eyes dilated, his own member heavy and demanding attention.

Tarek tried to remember the delicacy of Keshan and Jandu’s secret kiss. The sweetness of their embrace. But when his hands touched Anant’s flesh, his senses enflamed, and tenderness fled from his mind. He forced himself upon Anant, taking what he needed greedily, slamming his body into Anant as Anant responded with utter acquiescence. When Tarek came, he flushed with immediate guilt, and sought to pacify his lover by gently returning the favor.

But Anant’s eyes burned with a fiery, injured intensity, and Anant pushed himself into Tarek’s mouth savagely, encouraging Tarek to continue with his frenzied assault. Anant liked it rough. He wanted Tarek to treat him wildly. Tarek’s fingers clawed into Anant’s thighs, he used teeth, he attacked Anant with all of his fury until Anant wept and cried out and came at the same time, his whole body shuddering.

Tarek panted, ashamed at what he had done to such a quiet, beautiful morning.

But, amazingly, Anant reached down and gathered Tarek up into a tender embrace. Tarek almost wept for joy. That he could be so brutish, and get such love and understanding in return—it was more than he had ever dreamed of. Anant accepted him, in all his berserk misery. Anant understood him. This potent embrace was the greatest gift Tarek had ever received, and that included his title, his Triya caste from Darvad. Nothing had made Tarek feel so safe, so wanted.

“I’m not lonely,” Tarek said to himself, amazed with the realization. Like the slow easing of a chronic pain, his mind was whole. Tarek laughed and held Anant to him.

Anant wore a puzzled grin. “You have me, my lord,” he said finally.

“Tarek.”

Anant blushed. “Tarek.” He kissed Tarek’s neck slowly, his tongue gently darting out to touch Tarek’s skin. Even though he had just finished, Tarek felt his body stir once more. “Tarek,” Anant whispered, as if testing out the word, his lips traveling downwards, his tongue quick and searching, and Tarek closed his eyes and listened to Anant whisper his name as he kissed Tarek in places he never imagined to be kissed, as he showed a gentle trust and openness that Tarek had only dreamed of.

“Any man who kisses me there gets to call me Tarek,” Tarek said, smiling. Anant snickered.

“That’s the first funny thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Anant told him. He grinned seductively and leaned down to continue his kiss.

Tarek smiled to himself, proud to have been funny for once. Life was so sweet and sexy and hilarious and comforting and beautiful, in the arms of this man. He laughed himself, and opened his body up to his lover, and realized, that no matter what happened from this point forward, with the war or with Dragewan or with Darvad, Tarek had, at the very least, this one perfect, happy moment.