The Oleander Sword, page 40
Rao was not sure what reaction the priest wanted, so he simply nodded, keeping his voice attentive, curious.
“How did an Aloran come to be a priest of the mothers?” he asked.
“The nameless guides our fates,” said Mitul. “And the nameless guided me to the service of the mothers. Here, I found others who shared my vision.” Cryptically put, but Mitul was looking at Rao with his pale eyes. “You believe in the nameless god. And you believe in the mothers of flame.”
“Of course.”
“And the yaksa?”
“It is not a matter of belief,” Rao replied. “The yaksa, the mothers of flame, the nameless god—all of them exist, do they not? I don’t disagree with your—path. But I venerate the mothers of flame, and I worship the nameless god. That was how I was raised.”
“And the yaksa?”
“I am simply glad they’re gone,” said Rao.
“Ah, Prince Rao,” Mitul said with a faint smile. “They are not gone.”
For a moment, Rao was not sure he had heard correctly.
“They are not gone,” Mitul said again. His pale eyes seemed to cut through Rao before he turned, guiding Rao deeper into the room. “Let me show you the worth of this temple, and why priests of the mothers tend to it so lovingly.”
Tension knotted its way through Rao’s body. It was a feeling somewhere between fear and anticipation. It carried him across the room. Held him silent.
The nameless. Somehow, he was sure, the nameless god had called him here.
“The fire of the mothers burned the yaksa grievously,” Mitul said, with that priestly, storytelling cadence to his voice. “But there were yaksa who, dying, laid their bodies in Ahiranya’s soil. Trees grew from their corpses, or so the Ahiranyi believe. There are many who dismiss the Ahiranyi because they worshipped monsters. But their truth is no less than ours—only darker. Only crueler.
“We kept one such yaksa here,” Mitul went on. “One dying yaksa, carried into this temple. One yaksa, laid in our temple’s soil to perish. Its body has not survived the centuries unchanged or intact. It is no more than wood—strange, and rich with heat, but nonetheless, no more than wood.” He touched his fingertips to a long box that lay on a high table. “Then, a decade ago, it began to change.”
He lifted the lid. Inside it, Rao could see soil—rich, soft earth. And upon it…
An arm.
At first Rao had thought it was human. Nameless help him, in the course of war he had seen many a severed limb. He knew the shape of one—the absolute horror of a limb flung on a battlefield, still human and freshly alive, fingers curling, knuckles scarred, garbed in some poor soldier’s broken armor.
The thing within the box resembled an arm: It had five fingers, curling toward a palm. A wrist with jutting bones, the shadow of veins beneath thin skin, leading to the jut of an elbow, an upper arm cut ragged. But the veins, even in the dim light, were the green of sap. The skin was not skin, but wood. If a hand had carved it—and Rao was certain no hand had—then it would have been called beautiful workmanship, eerily lifelike. Roots, white and green, emerged from the stump, sinking into the soil.
It was alive.
“The priest of the mothers reared in Parijat do not know the meaning of what lies before them,” said the priest. “They see this arm and do not understand. But we who serve the mothers but also came from other branches and other faiths—we see with clearer eyes. We understand.” Mitul looked at him steadily. “This,” he said, “is yours, now.”
He raised the box and held it forward.
Rao took a reflexive step back.
“This should be shown to the empress.”
“It is yours.”
“It should be hers. She must—she needs to be told of this, immediately.”
“The empress already knows,” said Mitul. “And if she does not, my teacher will tell her. He is wise in such matters.”
“Why give this to me?” Rao demanded. “Why me, of all the men waiting beyond this temple? Why part with it at all?”
“This is no temple to the nameless, but the nameless speaks everywhere,” said Mitul. “You have named and crowned your empress. You have followed her through months of endless war. And now she finally turns her face to Harsinghar and the throne. It is the nameless god’s voice—and the mothers alongside it—who tell me it must be you. And you know it too, Prince Rao. You hear it in your heart.” He held the box forward again once more. “You know what must be done.”
Rao stared at him.
“Does the nameless not speak in your heart?” The priest’s voice was kind. “Does the nameless not show you the way?”
Rao knew what his heart said. But he couldn’t do what it urged him to do.
He had a duty here, on the path that lay before him, in the battle that awaited Malini at Harsinghar. If there was a voice in his heart, always tugging him away, turning his footsteps back, back, back, then he had no right to listen to it. No right to follow it.
But he held out his own hands and took the box of stone, and the yaksa’s severed limb with it. It fit into his waiting hands like it belonged there.
He stepped out into the central gardens of the temple. They were no monastery gardens of the nameless, no gleaming grasses and fruit-heavy trees, no water-laden plinths for seeking visions. There were flowers, and only flowers: gently flowering jasmine blossoms, vibrant pink roses, and sunbursts of yellow oleander, lovely and poisonous. And across from him stood Malini.
Malini was standing under the cover of the temple’s columns, in soft shadow. Whatever the priest had said to her had left no mark—she looked as calm as ever, the wind catching the pale folds of her sari, a few stray flower petals from the shrine caught in her hair. She was looking down at him, and as she stared and he stared back, a slight frown creased her brow.
He wondered what she could see in his face.
“I did not expect to find you here,” she said. She swept forward, unhurried. The frown had settled, fixing in place. “Did you come in search of me?”
“Malini,” he said. “I. No.”
She said nothing. She looked at him and looked at him, with those dark eyes that were a mirror of Aditya’s and Chandra’s.
“I am going to Aditya,” he said. The words wrenched their way out of him. “I must…” He tightened his hands against the box. He could not lie to her. He owed her this: the truth. The reason for his fractured loyalty. “The priest told me the yaksa are returning. He gave me…” He could not explain, so he simply opened the box, and she peered in. Her face went very still.
“A limb of wood,” she murmured.
“A message,” he said. “Proof that Aditya’s visions are true. And proof to me, that I should follow my instincts. What the nameless has been telling me in my heart.” He let out a shaky breath. “Malini,” he said. “I. I have to go back to Aditya. I have to go back to Saketa.”
“You are my Aloran general,” Malini said. “If you are not here, who will lead your men?”
“My commanders are wise and able,” Rao said. She would not part with his soldiers, then. He was not surprised by that. “I trust them to you. My father would support me in this.”
“Would he,” Malini said noncommittally. She looked at him, measuring him up. There was a new coolness in her tone when she said, “A priest spoke to me of yaksa too. Rao. Tell me truly. You believe danger is coming for us? A danger greater than even Chandra presents?”
“I do,” he said.
“And you think the answer lies with Aditya? Not with me?” A strange urgency to her tone.
“I think there is something Aditya must do,” he said. “I think he has a purpose. And if the crown is your purpose, then his is something else altogether. And I… I must help him find it.”
“Ah, Rao,” she murmured, bitterness and fondness twining together in her voice. “Always the helper.”
“If that is my role in life, it isn’t such a bad one,” he said. “I only ask—Empress—that you give me permission to fulfill it.”
“If I deny you, won’t you simply slip away in the night?” Her mouth curled—not quite a smile. It was too knowing for that.
“I don’t believe I would,” he said, after a brief hesitation. She caught it. Of course she did.
“Then you don’t really know yourself,” she said. “You followed your name across the empire. You sought me out for its sake. And now you’ve been handed a new purpose…? You’ll follow it pitilessly, no matter what demands I place on you. So I shall not place any.”
He could say nothing. It was true—the kind of true that struck him through swift and brutal as an arrow.
“You may only take the bare minimum of men you need to reach Saketa safely,” Malini said, after a moment.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t thank me,” she said. “You must do what you have been guided to by higher forces. And so, apparently, must I.”
PRIYA
“No,” Raziya said, voice like iron. “Empress, I cannot. My guardswomen will not.”
“You call me empress and still refuse me?” Malini shook her head. “Lady Raziya, I have good reason.”
“Why would you refuse our protection?” Raziya demanded. “The battle to take Harsinghar will be dangerous beyond compare, Empress. Why would you send us to the back of the battlefield to fight like cowards?”
“You saw what a bloodbath took place on the Veri,” said Malini.
“All the more reason to allow us to protect you!” Raziya made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “If you insist on going without the defense we can offer, at least keep Elder Priya by your side in battle.”
Internally, Priya agreed. But for now, she watched with interest, keeping her silence.
Malini shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I have a plan. It isn’t for you to understand it now.”
Raziya’s eyes sharpened with irritation. “Empress,” she began.
“Lady Raziya,” said Malini. “When this war ends, I want your women to train my personal guard. I want guardswomen of my own. And I want to learn how to use a bow with my own two hands.” Priya looked at her hands; those soft, uncallused, cruel hands. “I spoke to a priest in secrecy,” Malini went on. “And now I’m telling you, if you are at my side in this war, none of that will come to pass. If you have faith in the mothers, please, ask me no more.”
Raziya pursed her lips but finally relented.
The women left, and Priya remained. If anyone thought anything of it, they didn’t say so—though Lady Deepa’s gaze lingered on Priya, curious, before she turned her head and departed.
Malini’s eyes met her own.
“Tell me the truth,” Priya said simply.
“The priests have offered me an alliance,” Malini said. “And Rao has returned to Saketa to advise my brother. I did not lie about that.”
“So they’ll give you their support,” Priya said. “All those priests of the mothers. Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“For nothing in return?” Priya pressed. She knew there was something else here that Malini hadn’t spoken of yet. Raziya had rightly sensed it. They all had.
“Oh, they want something,” Malini said. She went abruptly silent.
In Malini’s position Priya would have paced the floor. As it was, she could barely keep still. Her body was raw, bright with feeling. She could have run, or howled, or grown a tree to splinter the soil. But instead she clutched her own knees and kept her attention on Malini, who looked as brittle as glass, and just as sharp. The conversation with the priest had clearly shaken her.
Priya waited, and eventually Malini spoke again.
“They want me to burn—willingly,” Malini said.
Priya’s heart gave a thud.
“Malini.”
“I told them I would.” She raised a hand, silencing Priya before Priya could protest, could tell her what foolishness that was. “I lied, Priya,” she said. “I will never allow myself to burn. But all this—demanding I release the priest who wanted me dead, detouring to this temple, even meeting the so-called faceless son alone—all of it was a test of my willingness to bend to their orders, to do things unthinkingly and obediently. And I have done it. They have every reason to believe me, and every reason to give me their backing in return.” A twist to her mouth. “They think I’ll make a fine puppet. A good, pure, and righteous puppet.”
“But why?” Priya asked, bewildered and horrified. “What would your burning give them?”
Malini looked into her eyes.
“Faith is strange, and powerful,” she said. “Think of what was done to you for faith, by your own elders.”
“Passing through the waters did give me power,” Priya pointed out, even as the bitterness of that settled over her.
“And Divyanshi’s burning did bless Parijatdvipa, as did the deaths of all the mothers,” Malini said levelly. “Their belief in the value of my death is—not untrue.”
“That doesn’t make it any less monstrous,” Priya whispered.
“No.” Malini’s eyes finally lowered. “No.”
“I don’t trust your priests,” Priya said. “But then, why would I?”
“I don’t trust my priests.”
Malini swayed, and then exhaled, turning her body so that she was leaning against Priya. It startled Priya, almost, that sudden yielding—the weight of Malini against her, Malini tucking her feet close to her body, resting a hand against Priya’s arm.
“They’ve asked me for another act of faith,” Malini whispered against her skin. The warmth of her breath, the tightness of her shoulders—all of it made Priya want to curl over her, shield her, hold her like a shell around a vulnerable yolk. “When we attack Harsinghar I am going to… I am going to fight with all my strength. But if all else fails—if the fire is too much for my army… and I fear it will be… Priya, I’m going to allow myself to be captured. Taken to Chandra.”
“Malini,” Priya said. Heart thudding. “That…”
“I know.”
“It’s a trap. Surely, it’s a trap.”
“I know,” said Malini, voice a little muffled against Priya. “But perhaps it’s not.”
“You’re not the kind of person who takes wild risks,” Priya said, helpless at the thought of it, of Malini handing herself meekly over for slaughter. “What do you even know about this priest?”
“That he has connections and power, and hungers for more,” Malini murmured. “That he cannot gain more power under Chandra. I remember the priests Chandra raised up—all Parijati by blood and rearing. This faceless son still has a Saketan inflection to his voice. He cannot hide it. That he has nonetheless risen so far shows his ambition. He fears losing his position, but he is willing to do it for the sake of that ambition. And his ideals.”
“Ideals?”
“Oh, he dreams of what Chandra dreams of. A better Parijatdvipa, reshaped by faith. But their understanding of what faith should build—that is different. ‘Better’ for Chandra means a world that fits him and his desires. ‘Better’ for a priest from Saketa… well.” Priya could feel Malini’s smile against her skin—the anger in it. “He will not find that with Chandra.”
“Maybe handing you to Chandra will give him what he wouldn’t get otherwise,” Priya managed. “Malini, I’m no good at politics or the kind of—the games you have to play. But this. You cannot do this—”
“I’ve considered my options,” said Malini. “And this is the best path. We can perhaps—perhaps—take Harsinghar and the throne. But I cannot keep it if the priests of the mothers refuse to serve me. Kartik is the key, Priya, and this is the price he demands of me.”
“You should negotiate with him then. Get a more reasonable price. It’s so clear you’ve never haggled at a market,” Priya added in a mutter.
That coaxed a true, unguarded laugh out of Malini. The sound made Priya’s heart ache.
“That’s the problem. Faith doesn’t allow for negotiation. Only—obedience.”
“I’m a temple elder,” said Priya. “I think I know all about faith. More than you, even. He’s only human. He can be negotiated with.”
There was something Priya couldn’t understand about this—something driving Malini, something making her press her fingers into the fabric that covered Priya’s stomach, her breath soft against Priya’s shoulder. Malini had made this decision, but Priya was sure there had to be reasons beyond the ones she’d given her.
“You’re not an obedient person,” Priya said, instead of interrogating Malini—instead of trying to pry the real truth out of her.
“No.” Malini was silent for a moment. “You’re going to have to trust that I understand the priests of the mothers,” she said quietly. “You’re going to have to believe that I know their ways, and how to manage them.”
“I know what you are,” said Priya. “I know you understand people. But Malini, this kind of risk…” An exhale. “I’m going to have to have faith, am I?”
“In me? Yes.”
Priya closed her eyes. “I don’t think I like faith very much.” Behind the closed lids of her eyes, in that brief darkness, she saw the sangam, and the yaksa, and felt an echo of fear run through her.
She pushed it away. She couldn’t examine it now.
“And you, a temple elder,” Malini was saying. “An expert on faith!”
“Don’t throw my own words back at me, Malini.”
“Then don’t ask me to change my nature.” There was a hint of a true smile in her voice now. It made Priya want to see her face, so Priya gave in to the impulse to touch her fingertips to Malini’s cheek. She moved her hand to Malini’s jaw. Urged her chin up with a light nudge of her fingers. Malini moved easily with her.
Their eyes met. If Priya had thought seeing Malini’s face would give her answers—well. Malini had always been good at hiding what she felt. But there was a tenderness in her eyes, her expression so gentle it made Priya’s heart hurt.
“What do you need from me?” Priya asked. “If you’re going to be foolish—how can I help you?”
