The Archer's Heart (7 page)

“This way.” Jandu cut the corner between the armory and the guard tower, taking a short cut to his own rooms. “How come we are never taught this?”

“No one here cares about the Yashvas, even though they formed the world. We are only thought of as spirits, nothing more.”

“What happens after the sharta is expelled?” Jandu asked.

“The summoned Yashva reappears in the Yashva kingdom, exhausted and pissed off.” Keshan smiled. “I saw it while I stayed with them during my exile.”

Jandu wanted to ask Keshan more questions about his time in the Yashva kingdom, but Keshan’s expression had closed. Jandu let it go.

Jandu’s rooms were at the far end of one of the larger and newer buildings, overlooking a rose garden and pool that he shared with Baram. Keshan immediately wandered about, taking in the sparse decorations as Jandu excused himself and went to the bath. When he returned, refreshed and in a change of clothing, Keshan had an odd smirk on his face.

“I can’t determine anything about you by your rooms,” he said.

Jandu shrugged. “I don’t spend much time here. If it were me, I’d just have targets on the wall.”

“But who
are
you, Jandu Paran? Really?” Keshan smiled slyly.

Jandu laughed. “Just me. Handsome. Talented. Brilliant. You know the rest.”

Keshan was staring at him strangely. “Do I? What else is there to know about you?”

Jandu could feel his face turning red. “There’s nothing else to tell. I’m just me. I guess I should also say I’m the youngest Paran brother, fourth in line for the throne, Suraya’s third husband, on and on. But that doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Not to me. All I want to do is shoot things, and have a good time.” Jandu glanced over at Keshan, who regarded Jandu with almost a hungry expression.

“Well, then.” Keshan cleared his throat. “Let’s go show you a good time, shall we?”

They made their way to the eastern bridge, where one of the palace guards offered to prepare a chariot for them.

“I’d rather walk, if it’s the same to you,” Jandu said.

Keshan agreed, and they crossed the bridge and entered the heart of the bustling city of Prasta.

As Jandu walked, he relaxed. He had always been a constant mover. As a child, his family had made fun of him for his persistent fidgeting. He always drummed his hands on tables and squirmed in his chairs. In fact the only time Jandu was ever still was when he took aim. The moment he held a bow in his hands, the constant need to be in movement ceased, and he could focus all of that reckless energy into one goal, hitting his target.

As they passed through the central market, Jandu took comfort in the sights and smells of the city of his birth. Jandu loved Prasta, which sprawled lazily along both banks of the Yaru River. Stone walls stretched for miles around the city, carved white towers thrusting up from them like sentinels. Inside the walls, streets wound endlessly around each other from the meat market all the way to the temple district.

Down one street, Jandu smelled jasmine blossoms, only to be assaulted at the next alley by open sewage.  

Jandu’s presence as a Triya among the lower castes did not go undetected. As he and Keshan made their way through the crowds, most people stopped and bowed low. Jandu offered the sign of peace to onlookers, and often stopped walking altogether as some merchant or traveler bent to take the dust from his feet. Not for the first time, Jandu considered traveling incognito.

Keshan directed them into one of the poorer sections of town where Jandu rarely ventured. He felt out of place and uncomfortable, but Keshan’s easy confidence and constant stream of amusing stories set Jandu’s mind at ease. The streets narrowed. The mud and straw walls rose higher. Only the smells of cooking oil and the sight of washing hung on long lines across the streets proved that inhabitants dwelled within. Through the occasional open door, Jandu could peer in and see the small cobblestone courtyards where families gathered on mats, eating and fighting and cleaning and tending children as goats and chickens scuttled past.

Keshan guided him further than he’d gone before, to the very edge of Prasta. Here houses consisted of a single room, broken wooden doors, and small windows through which Jandu could glimpse dirty bedding. People drew away from them sharply, wary of such noble blood walking among them. A group of girls dressed in rags crossed the street as they saw Jandu and Keshan approach, fearful that their shadows would fall on them. Jandu rarely saw Jegora untouchables out and about, and his sense of discomfort grew.

“Where are you taking me?” Jandu demanded, interrupting Keshan’s long-winded narrative of the time he stole pastries from some courtier’s daughters. Jandu’s fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword, causing the Jegora to cower away from him.

Keshan pointed to a simple mud temple up ahead. “An acrobatic troupe from Tiwari is performing there. Some of my friends back home recommended the show.”

Jandu didn’t have anything nice to say about the area they were in, so he kept his thoughts to himself. He knew Keshan liked the lower classes, but this was getting a bit too unconventional for him.

“Are you sure we will be welcome?” Jandu asked nervously.

“Are you kidding? They will be honored to have us.” Keshan linked his arm casually in Jandu’s and pulled him along.

The temple was very simple on the outside, mud bricks and shutterless windows. It was a Suya temple, and Jandu had never been inside one. If it had been Jegora, Jandu would have refused to enter, no matter how enchanted he was with Keshan’s company.

Keshan didn’t give him time to ponder the unhygienic implications further. He pulled Jandu inside. Jandu was relieved to see the images of God were the same as those that graced the most ornate of Shentari temples. The prophets gazed from the corners, and the tenets from the Book of Taivo were carved along the entrance wall, the letters painted in red, veiled by the countless streams of incense smoke.

As Keshan predicted, their appearance was greeted with disbelief, and then overbearing warmth. Temple attendants gathered pillows for Jandu and Keshan to sit upon, and a servant was sent to fetch Triya-caste purified tea for them.

Close to one hundred people already sat in the small courtyard of the temple, but an airy space was created in the center for Jandu and Keshan. At the front of the temple, near the offerings, the troupe performed their show. Five men and five women tumbled over the stone floor in dramatic twists and fanciful leaps, all to the steady rhythm of a flute and a rebo which looked to be missing several strings.

Jandu disliked the environment, but the moment the show started, he forgot his anxiety and simply enjoyed the performance. He had never seen anything like it. All throughout the piece, crude jokes were scattered, random positions spawning a series of lewd gestures, causing the audience around him to roar in delight and Jandu to blush horrifically. He never knew the lower castes reveled in obscenity.

Jandu stole glances to his side, watching Keshan’s reactions. Keshan appeared captivated by the performance. He laughed and clapped and smiled constantly, his face lighting up every time a new number started. Jandu enjoyed his cousin’s reactions as much as the show itself. Keshan shouted cheers and raunchy suggestions with the rest of the audience. Jandu was out of place here—but it was clear that Keshan felt comfortable.

The performance neared its finale. And then suddenly a loud scream and the sound of numerous horses thundered from outside the temple walls. For another minute, the acrobats continued their show. Then an explosion shook the ground, and no one could ignore what was happening outside.

The audience stood and streamed for the entry. Jandu jumped up as well, his hand on his sword, cursing the fact that he left his bow and quiver behind.

Keshan stood beside him, eyeing the frightened crowd.

“We can’t let them go outside,” Keshan said suddenly. He dashed for the entryway.

“Please! Everyone! Stay calm!” Keshan shouted, trying to bring order to the chaos. Jandu was momentarily terrified that Keshan would be trampled.

But the audience stopped at the door. Keshan guarded it with his body. “If you go outside, you will be harmed.”

Something caught afire, right outside the temple, and now smoke drifted in the dusk and clouded even nearby people from Jandu’s sight. He pressed his way through the crowd to stand beside Keshan.

“What is happening?” Jandu shouted in Keshan’s ear, hoping to be heard above the panicked shouts.

“Robbers,” Keshan said. “It happens in the poorer temples. Bandits block temple doors at events like this one, forcing payment from the people inside.”

“What?” Jandu scanned the crowd. “These people don’t have enough money to make it worthwhile!”

 “The robbers pick on the poor temples because no one is going to defend them.”

Lit torches were thrown over the temple walls, and the panic increased, people pushing each other out of the way to avoid the flames.

“Why isn’t anyone sounding the alarm for the city guards?” Jandu cried.

Keshan glared at Jandu like he was insane. “This is a Suya temple.” A loud thump shuddered against the door, causing the wood to bulge inwards. Keshan flew forward towards the fearful crowd.

“They’re breaking the door!” someone cried.

“This is ridiculous,” Jandu said. His bewilderment had cleared, and now he was just angry. “All I wanted to do was go and see a show, and now these bastards ruin it. Fuck this. Let’s go get them.”

Keshan narrowed his eyes. “There may be as many as twenty men out there, Jandu.”

“I don’t care,” Jandu said. “I’m a fucking prince and I don’t pay robbers. These bastards picked the wrong temple today.”

Jandu wished he wore armor, and almost laughed at the thought. That would show him for making fun of Triya who dressed in helmets and breastplates just to attend festivities. He spotted an iron breastplate, which was part of the decorative armor of the Prophet Bandruban. He pushed his way through the crowd and untied the leather bands from the statue, grabbing the breastplate and the dull, decorative sword from the statue’s hand. He returned to the door, which now pulsed and groaned with each ram from the outside. Smoke poured over the wall, choking the crowd trapped in the temple.

“Put this on,” Jandu demanded, throwing Keshan the breastplate.

Keshan shook his head. “You wear it!”

“I’ll be fine. Hurry.”

Keshan glared at Jandu again, but quickly strapped on the breastplate. It was too large for him, and the metal was cheap,  but it would be better than nothing. Jandu looked at the dull, ornamental sword. He gave Keshan his own sword instead, keeping the prophet’s sword for himself.

Keshan in armor was a strange sight—such a slim body in such bulky attire. Jandu found his mind drawn to it. More fiery torches rained down over the temple wall. People scattered and screamed.

Jandu drew his sword. “You ready, Keshan?”

Keshan nodded. He turned to the crowd. “Stay back! Back away from the door! Everyone stay inside!” He placed his hands on the bolt.

“If I use a sharta, are you going to be angry?” Jandu asked suddenly.

“There is a time and place for magical weapons. And this is both of them.”

Jandu closed his eyes and brought his hands together. He visualized the Barunazsharta in his mind, focusing all his thoughts on the poetry of the weapon.

And then he spoke. Quickly, quietly, he whispered the words he needed. He groped on the ground for a stone, which he spat the sharta onto, and then tossed the stone over the wall, into the midst of the robbers.

“Close your eyes,” he told Keshan. He shut his own.

The world exploded into light.

Shouts of surprise filled the air as the blinding light blazed overhead. Jandu immediately opened the door and pushed himself into the cluster of robbers.

“Lock the door! Lock the door!” he cried to Keshan behind him.

The bandits were still blinded, rubbing at their eyes, groping for their weapons and stumbling towards Jandu.

Keshan rushed up beside Jandu, sword drawn.

Jandu’s skin raised in goose bumps, and he heard the soft, silent uttering of a sharta. Keshan spat out the curse so quickly that Jandu had missed which one it was.

The men in front of them exploded backwards, propelled by a force of air. And then Keshan and Jandu charged.

Hand to hand combat was never Jandu’s strongest skill. But he was energized this night, fuelled by the panic of the audience, by the outrage of having his evening ruined. He thrust the temple sword into the skull of one of his attackers. As the man fell, Jandu tore the sword from the man’s lifeless grip. Another robber drove in with a short knife. Jandu parried his thrust with the temple sword and then stabbed his new blade deep into the man’s chest. As the robber fell dead, Jandu saw fear kindle in the faces of his would be attackers. He threw himself upon them, slashing with both blades and driving them back. Bandits cried out and fell, bleeding. Their horses reared and fled. Oily smoke filled the air. Behind him, Jandu heard Keshan kill another man and then there were no more attackers left.

Jandu stood beside Keshan, watching the last remaining assailants flee for their lives. Almost twenty men lay in the street. Half of those had been destroyed by Keshan’s sharta—their faces contorted by the force of the weapon’s wind. Some lay bloody, staring upwards with blank, final stares, and a few groaned feebly, clutching at the dirt, unable to move but not yet gone.

The door to the temple opened tentatively, the wood creaking on its injured hinges. Slowly, the temple goers shuffled out, staring at the carnage in the street. Others came to witness, neighbors pouring from their homes, clutching children. When they saw one of the bandits still living they fell on him like animals, kicking him, spitting and cursing until he was dead. Even though Triya codes forbade this kind of dishonorable fight, these Suya needed their vengeance and Jandu let them take it. Who knew how many times these same robbers had attacked their temple? Jandu turned away.

A young woman with scorched hair bent down to touch Jandu’s feet.