The Star-Touched Queen (11 page)
Read The Star-Touched Queen Online
Authors: Roshani Chokshi
“Touch the thread.”
The thick silver thread resonated warmly against my fingers. I felt a tug inside my body. The next time I opened my eyes, a forest filled with tall pines vaulted above us, their shadows crisscrossing the earth in black nets. Sweet, smoky resin filled my lungs. In the distance, the fading sun silhouetted the leaves a bloody red. My heart sank. The sight of trees usually filled me with happiness. But these trees were different. Their tragedy was tangible.
“Where are we?”
I was still trying to find my bearings in the strange woods. Amar stood by my side, his hands clasped behind his back. He raised a finger to his lips, nodding toward the outlines of two people in the forest—a mother and son. The mother’s hair fell about her shoulders and sweat gleamed on her brow. She looked feverish. Beside her, the boy jumped along the leaves and kicked over rocks.
“Is the silver thread hers? Can they see us?”
“Yes, the silver thread belongs to the mother. And no, they can’t. This is simply the projection of the thread. Nothing we do here affects them.”
He picked up a rock and hurtled it against the tree. But no sooner had he thrown it into the air than it reappeared by his feet.
“This moment in time is fixed.”
“Fixed? So it’s already happened?”
“In a way, everything has already happened and every option has already run its course. But those multiple fates are contained in the tapestry. Our challenge is selecting the best fate to maintain a balance of peace and letting the other outcomes fall away. Time runs differently in Akaran.”
“But if we can’t change anything about this moment, then why are we here?”
Amar held a finger to his lips and pointed at the woman.
She was leaning against a pair of twisted trees. With their outstretched limbs and arched trunks, the trees reminded me of someone in the act of falling. I looked at the other trees and a shiver ran down my spine. Each of the trees looked … human. And they were all in various shapes of collapse—mossy knolls for braced knees, spindly twigs for overextended arms, the language of a fall.
“What do you see?”
I tore away my gaze. “The tree reminded me of something.”
“A person?”
“But that’s—”
“—exactly what they are,” finished Amar. “This is a twilight grove, a place where the lines between the Otherworld and human realm are blurred.”
“What happened to all those people?” I asked, looking at the trees in new horror.
“They got stuck in the Otherworld.”
“Did they ever leave?”
“In a way. But by the time they were freed, they were no longer the same people and they could never return to the life they left behind.”
I watched the little boy pluck a handful of flowers for his mother.
“Then why are we here? Clearly, the mother shouldn’t leave her child behind.” My jaw clenched, my thoughts flitting to the mother I never knew, but had always wanted. Instinctively, my hand flew to my throat, fingers searching for the sapphire necklace. I kept forgetting it was gone. “Why does this need any more discussion?” I bit out.
“I’ll show you.”
Amar held out his hand. I looked once more at the little boy before slipping my hand in his. The moment we touched, the forest sank away, replaced once more with the throne room. This time I was prepared for the dizziness and I ground my heels into the floor to keep from swaying. Amar pulled at a dark green thread next to the silver one.
“This belongs to the boy.”
I looked at the thread; it was split at the end, diverging into two frays that entwined with different spectrums of color.
“Two outcomes?”
“Two fates. Let me show you the first one.”
Amar took my hand in his. I blinked once, and we were back inside the forest. But this time, the boy was alone. My heart ached just looking at him. He stood barefoot in the woods, his hands at his sides and his eyes glistening. Tears had left wet tracks along his cheeks and he wiped his eyes.
“
Amma
?” cried the boy.
“No,” I said, steeling my voice. “I don’t like this outcome at all.”
Amar’s hand steadied me. “Don’t be impulsive.”
Scolded, I forced myself to stare at the impassive outline of Amar’s hooded face, my cheeks flushing. It was the closest I could get to staring him in the eye, trying to show him that I wasn’t faint of heart. That I could, even if it hurt, witness this.
“The boy has two paths before him. Both are great in their own way. And both depend on when his mother enters the Otherworld.” Amar pointed to a white flag waving near the horizon. “Do you recognize that sigil?”
I scrutinized the flag—a red crocodile against a white background. It was the symbol of the Ujijain Empire.
“Yes.”
“The Emperor will come this way. He will see the boy and raise him as his own. He will be a hero among his people, a warrior both cunning and compassionate.”
As Amar spoke, my eyes fluttered shut. I breathed deeply and saw everything come to pass. I saw the boy training, his eyes battle hardened. I saw him grow strong, settle disputes between neighbors, win the affection of his countrymen. I saw how each night he peered at the moon, his handsome face drawn. His mother’s loss clung to him, a constant memory to live with kindness, with love. The vision sped up. I watched the boy age, listened to him tirelessly advocate for his country to choose peace instead of war. But all the while, the war dragged on.
Bodies piled up in the Ujijain Empire and my heart clenched. It was not just Ujijain that suffered. On the fallen soldiers, I recognized Bharata’s crest—a lion and an eagle, both with one eye closed. My people were dying at the cost of this slow reconciliation. Only when he lay on his deathbed, his hands pallid and wrinkled, did peace heal the fractured empire. I watched his final smile fade, his eyes still gleaming hopefully before the vision faded.
When I opened my eyes, my cheeks were wet with tears.
“Was what I saw real?”
“Yes and no,” said Amar softly. “It’s a fate hanging in the ether, merely an option and a thread that’s already run its course.”
“And this outcome of”—I hesitated, remembering the people strewn on the battlefields, the ones bearing my father’s symbol—“… peace … only happens if his mother slips into the Otherworld?”
“Not if. When.”
“When?” I echoed.
Amar lifted my hand and spun me in a quick circle. I blinked and found myself facing an entirely different landscape. Before me lay a village razed to the ground. I recognized the landscape; I had seen it in the tomes of the palace archives a hundred times. This was part of Bharata’s territory. Unattended fires dotted the horizon. My hand flew to my nose, but nothing softened the stench of war. A sharp sound caught my attention and I turned to see the same boy, now grown up, pushing his horse at a breakneck speed over the burning land, rallying the surviving villagers together and spearing Ujijain’s flag into the charred soil.
The vision sped up. Bharata was no more. Hammers were taken to its parapets. Sledges to its ancient monuments. It was like my father’s reign had never existed. Everything had been swallowed up by the grown boy and the blazing war. Yet … even with my father’s legacy completely erased, there was one thing I noticed: no bodies.
The scores of dead from the previous vision were gone. They had survived. Revulsion twisted in my stomach. I saw the choice before me, only it didn’t feel like a choice at all. Either way I looked, it was an execution. No matter what, Bharata would pay the price.
“In this fate, the boy becomes a mercenary. The king never raises him. Instead, he must fight to survive. But the peace he fought so hard for in the other life is much more easily accomplished in this outcome.”
I closed my eyes, watching this version of the boy’s life unwind behind my eyes. Instead of words to unite a kingdom, he used war. He had his peace, but it was a fragile thing, born of blood and at the cost of an entire country’s legacy.
“And his mother?”
“She slips into the Otherworld a mere year later.”
“Why isn’t there an option where she avoids the Otherworld altogether?”
“There are some pulls of fate that no one can alter,” said Amar, his voice worn. “While our kingdom has great power, some fates are fixed. All we can do is move in the spaces left ambiguous. Thankfully, fate leaves most things ambiguous.”
The village fire heated my face and I turned away from the flames.
“Get me away from here,” I said hoarsely.
My throat tightened. So this is what maintaining the borders of the realms meant. It was a cruel duty. Amar’s cloak fell across my eyes. I breathed deeply, letting the black silk cut off my sight.
When I opened my eyes, we were standing in the throne room. Amar drew the cloak away slowly, his fingers grazing my arms so lightly it might have been unintentional. That familiar warmth jolted in my stomach and I stepped back.
Beside me, the tapestry was dormant. Although it unfurled into beautiful pictures of the sky, sea and land, my eyes kept returning to its torn seam. It looked like a wound.
“What happened there?” I asked, pointing at the tear.
He stilled, refusing to turn in the tear’s direction. Finally, he spoke.
“Sometimes, a great trauma in the worlds can untether the threads. Hopefully, the tear will never concern us again.” His voice was quiet, dream-like, as if the tapestry were a sleeping thing he couldn’t bear to awaken. “But enough of that. Only one of the boy’s thread outcomes may survive. It is your decision.”
“Does the mother die when she enters the Otherworld?”
I pictured the Dharma Raja
,
the lord of justice in the Afterlife, riding toward the boy’s mother, swinging his noose to collect her soul and taking her to his bleak kingdom to await reincarnation.
Amar’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No one really dies. Death is just another state of life.”
“What’s the boy’s name?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I said. “Each thread has a color and each color belongs to a person. If I’m going to make such a decision, I don’t want a nameless person on my conscience.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier keep your victim faceless?”
I shuddered. “Not a victim.”
“What else do you call one hemmed in by fate?”
“Human,” I said, bitterness creeping into my voice.
“What about guilt, then? Why open yourself to pain?”
“Guilt is what makes you accountable.”
Amar smiled and I sensed that I had passed some test. “His name is Vikram.” I repeated the name in my head. “You need not make your decisions now. That moment takes practice. But if the time comes and you cannot perform—”
“No,” I said, a little too quickly. This was what I had wanted all these years, hadn’t I? The chance to demonstrate that I was worthy of power? I couldn’t back down now. “I can do it.”
“I never doubted you.”
My anger wilted.
“Last night, I told you I would test you,” said Amar, stretching his hands. “Consider this our first lesson.”
He walked to the center of the room, his hand hovering over the marble tiles. The space around him shimmered. Enchantment suffused the room. The floor trembled and in the next instant, a dusky pillar shot out from the ground. Its column ended in a delicate marble bud fashioned like an unopened flower bloom. He lay one hand against the bloom of stone, tapping his fingers against it expectantly.
“Ruling Akaran is a strange task. In many ways, it is like balancing an illusion. You must separate the illusion of what you see and the reality of its consequences,” he said. “Tell me, my queen, are you ready to play with fate?”
The light in the room dimmed so that the tapestry’s glittering threads were all but faint shimmers.
“Is that necessary?” I asked, waving my hand around the darkened room.
“You will learn to appreciate the shadows here. Better that you become accustomed to them now. The dark is more than just the absence of light. Think of it as a space for your thoughts.”
“My thoughts prefer sunlit spaces.”
“Then your thoughts need an education,” said Amar. “Allow me to enlighten them.”
He thudded his palm against the stone blossom. With a quiver, the marble petals uncurled. At the center crouched a marble bird. Amar tapped the bird once and it trembled, shaking its wings of stone and turning its head to glare at me. A small chain wrapped around its claws, rooting it to the slab.
“How did you—” I started, stretching a finger toward the animated bird when I felt a sudden heaviness in my arm. I turned to see a long sword in my grip. A flash of cold shot through me.
“Go on,” said Amar, gesturing at the stone bird in a bored voice. “It is a mere illusion of marble. Use your sword.”
“And do what with it?”
“What do you
think
swords are used for?” he asked drily.
I glanced between the bird and the sword. His words were as good as an execution. I cringed. Even though it was stone, a sense of wrongness crept through me. It looked so
alive
.
“How is this a test?”
“That remains to be seen. Now do as you will.” Amar unfolded his arms and his voice was a dark purr in my ear. “What’s this, my queen? All your vicious speech and you are moved to mercy by a stone bird?”
My grip tightened on the stone. The stone bird hopped a pace. Heat coursed through my veins. I didn’t even feel the weight of the sword in my arm. I raised it over my head and brought it down. Metal crunched into stone and bile rose into my throat. I dropped the sword, shaking. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the remains of the stone bird, but I glimpsed it from the corner of my eye—shards of marble like bone slivers.
“There,” I bit out. “I performed your test.”
Amar considered me for a moment, arms crossed, lips pursed into a thin line.
“No. You
failed
my test. You sacrificed an innocent thing.”
Nausea roiled in my stomach. “But you said it was an illusion.”
