by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

— CHAPTER 15 —

  In which a web of deceit is further uncovered and the Rani issues Ana an ultimatum.

oOo

Lila seemed very pleased to see Ravi again and made much of him when he came by her kiosk. She took his arm and pulled it intimately around her waist, then walked him to her wagon, calling to one of her co-workers to carry on without her.

“I believe this young man wants me to read his stars and stones,” she laughed and led him inside.

Taffik Pritam was alone in the wagon, seated at the small table. As they greeted each other, Lila moved to pour out some tea. Pritam removed a data wafer from his wrist bag and placed it on the table before Ravi.

“The list of missing Avasans is on this wafer. It has now grown to over fifty names. I wish you Tara’s fortune in finding them.”

Ravi took the wafer and slipped it into an inner pocket. “I have a message from Ana,” he said. “She wants desperately to see her father.”

Pritam frowned. “It could be dangerous for her to come here. Dangerous for both of them.”

“We have an idea, sama, of how she might come here if not inconspicuously, at least safely.”

They discussed the plan over their tea, coming to agree on a simple sequence of events. At last, Ravi rose to leave, but found Lila blocking his path, a blue bowl full of small stones in her hands.

“You must let me cast your fortune, Ravi-sama.”

Ravi’s face suffused with color. “I am Ravidas, memsa,” he said. “I don’t wish to cause offense, but I don’t believe the future lies in either stones or stars.”

Lila’s dark eyes glinted. “Neither do I,” she told him. “But I do believe it lies in each being’s kriya-sakti. Your soul has intimations of your future, Ravi. I can read only what your soul allows me to read.”

She held the bowl out to him. “Choose five stones. One each for body, spirit and soul; two for Ram-ji.”

He hesitated a moment, then reached into the bowl and selected a handful of small, smooth stones.

“Now, hold them in your hand—tightly.”

He did as she directed, glancing obliquely at Taffik Pritam, who sat at the table nursing his third cup of tea. The Avasan was smiling at him.

“Humor her,” he mouthed.

Ravi turned his eyes back to Lila. “What now?”

Her smile was sweetly sly. “You have never done this before?”

“No. I told you, I don’t believe in it.”

She nodded, then moved to the table. She set the bowl down on a chair and spread the top apron of her many-layered skirts on the table.

“Cast the stones there,” she said.

He did, and watched Lila bend her smiling face toward the stones to read them. Taffik Pritam now seemed openly amused and Ravi was certain he did not like being a source of humor. Still, he bore with it; he had no choice.

Lila held a hand over the random arrangement of stones, fingers spread. “You are a man of patience and honesty. You like order in your universe and you abide by order’s rule. You are greatly trusted by others.”

Taffik Pritam chuckled. “Please, Lila, tell the man something that is not patently obvious. Of course, he is patient; he is putting up with this distraction. We know he’s honest, since he told you what he thinks of all this. As for order and trustworthiness,”—he shrugged—“he would need both to be in charge of the Nathu Rai’s household.”

Lila colored. “The stones should never be read before an audience. The next time you come, Ravi, I’ll read them for you, alone.”

She gathered up the stones and put them into a small bag that dangled at the waist of her skirt, then slipped the bag beneath her waist band.

“Now, I must go back to my pottery and give Irini a break. I will see you again, Ravi.”

She stretched up to kiss him, then left the wagon.

Pritam chuckled. “Ravi, my friend, you are a marked man. By tossing the fortune stones on her skirts, Lila has just claimed your future. You are betrothed.”

oOo

Sitting at Jaya’s personal vicom terminal, Ana pored over the list of names, then pointed at the screen. “Feirkald. I know that family; they’re from Tadushk. And this one—Saed Kala—he lives on the southern side of Onan with his wife and children. He’s foreman at Fardana Mines.”

“You mean, he was foreman,” said Hadas, from behind her. “Now he’s probably-” He broke off with a strangled cry and thrust his finger onto one of the names, his face ashen. “Purus Betiq! Ana, she’s my...she’s one of my sister’s best friends! She left the settlement about a week before I did. She was supposed to come over with Belia, but her family didn’t have the price of passage then.”

He straightened, eyes grim and glittering with tears. “If only she had been with Belia. Neither of them might be lost.”

Ana rested a hand on his arm. “We’ll get her back, Hadas. We’ll get them all back.”

“How? How can we even find them? They’re spread all over this city by now. Maybe even all over the continent. God knows what might have happened to them. They may not even be alive.”

“Stop!” Ana rose from her chair, grasped his shoulders, and shook him. “Listen, Hadas. For every person on this list there is a record in the Badan-Devaki. I’m sure of it. Maybe not names—I’m not sure they care about names—but descriptions, identifying marks, probably even images.”

Hadas took a deep breath, nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. You’re right. Badan-Devaki is a business—a big business. They must process a lot of people; maybe hundreds every month. That’s inventory. Businesses track inventory. My father and mother keep inventory for the inn on the vicom. Every stick of furniture, every towel, every plate in the channara. The dalali will do no less. They did take my image while I was there, and asked me my name.”

Ana tugged at her lower lip, glancing down at the vicom screen. “I wonder how I can get into that place without being noticed?”

“Simple. Put on your insulsuit and go for a stroll in the Port Zone.”

Ana grimaced. “No, thank you. I’ve done that once already.”

She sank back into the chair, while Hadas perched on the edge of Jaya’s desk.

“You could go in as a customer,” he suggested. “Try to get lost in the right place-“

Ana shook her head. “Where’s the right place? I don’t know my way around that building—I’ve only seen a small portion of it. And if I got caught...”

“What about the Nathu Rai?” asked Hadas. “Surely he’s been to their private offices. He’s a mahesa, after all.”

“Jaya is rather unorthodox, as you’ve no doubt noticed. I think, when he took me there, it was the first time he’d ever been inside the place.”

Hadas made a frustrated noise. “Well, you came there to get me—that makes you a customer. Wouldn’t customers be invited to auctions? If you could get inside...”

The names blurred before Ana’s eyes. Get inside, yes, but how?

oOo

She was distracted all afternoon, barely touching lunch. Immediately after that tense meal, she confronted Jaya.

“Take me to the Badan-Devaki,” she demanded.

“What?” He paused in the act of skipping a stone across the pond.

“I have to get in there, Jaya. I have to get into their files.”

He looked back to the pond and flipped another stone at its rippling surface. “It’s that list, isn’t it? You want to see if they’ve got one that matches it.”

“That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”

“Certainly. And dangerous. And futile.”

Her ire flared. “Why, futile?”

“Let’s say you find the names of even some of the people on that list in the B&D’s files. What then?”

“Then, you tell Commander Gar and he gets the people back to their families and puts Badan and Devaki where they belong—in prison.”

“How, Ana? How does he do that? With what proof?” He turned to look at her. “So, they processed Avasans, and we suspect those Avasans were targeted and we suspect some Sarngin are being paid to collect them. How do we prove it? We’d have to connect Badan-Devaki to the thieves—solidly and irrefutably—and if we wanted to get any of the bent Sarngin, then we’d have to connect them, as well. Getting into their files won’t do that.”

“But it will locate those people. My people. Children, some of them. Younger than Hadas. Hadas has lost his sister and one of their closest friends to that lot. Don’t you care?”

He gazed at her balefully. “What do you think? Of course, I care. But finding those people—and they’re as much mine as they are yours—won’t make everything right. This thing is like a growth, Ana. Like sour-wort root. The more of it we dig up, the more we find branching out in all directions. This goes further than Badan-Devaki and some greedy Sarngin. Somehow the Worker’s Coalition is involved, and possibly the Consortium.”

“So, what then? We just do nothing?”

“No. We proceed, but cautiously. We figure out what kind of evidence we need and we try to obtain it.”

She studied him suspiciously. “You and Gar have a plan?”

He made a non-committal gesture with his head, “Nothing so definite as a plan.”

“Tell me!” she insisted, planting herself right in front of him.

He opened his mouth as if to demur, then said: “Gar still doesn’t know you’re involved in this. It’s not that I don’t trust him, exactly. I’m just not sure on what level he’s committed to uncovering this...conspiracy. Right now, I’m inclined to think it’s just a matter of personal and professional pride.”

Ana shrugged. “So, he doesn’t need to know I’m involved. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”

Jaya sat cross-legged on the grass and signaled Ana to join him. When she’d dropped down across from him, he said, “Ask yourself something: If the thieves aren’t taking money—or at least not much—how is Parva Rishi financing his high life?”

“He’s being paid by someone. I’d guess Badan-Devaki.”

“Ah, but how do they know what to pay him? I doubt he’s on salary.”

“Don’t patronize me, mahesa. They pay by the head—that’s the only way that makes sense. And the next question you will ask is: How do they know what to pay, since not every yevetha that’s brought in is Rishi’s work? And the answer is: The leaf that’s being taken must serve as redemption tokens. The thieves get paid for the number of id leaves they present to the Badan-Devaki.”

Jaya nodded. “That’s what we thought, too.”

Ana’s brows arched. “Then you’ve introduced Gar to Govi?”

“It seemed important that I produce at least one informant, so I chose Govi. Govi described what he’d seen behind the dalali and that was when I had the thought that the packets being delivered might be the stolen leaf. Gar was especially interested in the weapons Govi saw. He thought that might give just cause to investigate the doings in the back alley.”

Ana’s heart blazed with raptor fury. “That’s it, then. That’s the evidence we need to tie Badan-Devaki to the thieves!”

“We?” asked Jaya wryly.

“You’re not going to leave me out of this!”

“For your own safety, yes. No, listen, Ana!” He laid a finger across her open mouth. “This is Gar’s investigation.”

“Then introduce me to Gar and let me in on it!”

“I can’t. I can’t forget that there are some dangerous people involved in this. Someone was willing to commit murder to silence that thug. I don’t know what they’d do if they knew Rokh Nadim’s daughter was within reach.”

Ana shivered as a sudden realization struck. “Forgive me, mahesa, but if we’re right about the leaf being exchanged for money, then someone knows I’m in reach already.”

oOo

Jaya had gone into seclusion with Mall Gar and Govi, leaving Ana to her own devices.

Unwise of him, Ana thought.

She played some card games with Hadas and Dana, then went into a secret meeting of her own with Mina, Ravi, and Heli to plot a clandestine visit to the Bazaar. She longed to see her father, yearned for home and family as she had once yearned for water while stranded in a sandcat during a red blow.

Yet, prayer and meditation had led her to know that her future was on Mehtar—not with Jaya, but at the Asra, with the Deva Radha. She was Avasan, casteless and, worst of all, Genda Sita.

She hadn’t trumpeted her racial heritage, but she’d made no secret of it either. The Deva Radha and Jaya Sarojin both knew what she was. She was aware that if origin nor caste nor race mattered to a religious Order, it most certainly mattered to the Nathu Rai of Kasi, despite his talk of equality. He could not marry himself to the casteless daughter of a gaur miner—a Snowflake—even were he to desire such a union. She knew with certainty that if she stayed with him in any other capacity, she would immediately cease to be the person for whom he claimed both desire and respect.

Desire and respect. Ana found wry humor in that peculiar juxtaposition of emotion. A paradox, surely. “Laldasa,” he’d called her—his beloved slave. That patronizing endearment had wounded, but Ana was willing to forgive. She loved Jaya Sarojin and would freely admit it to him. She would gladly die for him—but she would not, could not, betray her bhakti for him.

When thought proved unproductive, Ana wandered into the library in search of something to read. She’d just seated herself in the window seat with a reader when she spotted a familiar bound volume sitting on the adjacent serving table. THE ONE SOUGHT was embossed in silver across the midnight blue cover.

She picked it up and opened it, finding a marker at the Parable of the Devi’s Garden. She frowned. Who, in this household, would be reading a Rohin text? Had Jaya’s curiosity about the Rohin Path prompted him to this?

She grimaced. No doubt he was looking for a hole in the fabric of her faith. She chastised herself immediately for the petty thought, knowing it was motivated by her own sense of outrage that the color of her skin or the place of her birth mandated that he see her as an inferior.

“Ah! Here you are!” The cool female voice came from the open doorway.

Ana glanced up to see the Rani gazing at her, her smooth face adorned in its customary impenetrable expression. The older woman closed the door behind her and glided into the room on a breeze laden with exotic perfume. She came to the center of the soft mulberry and cream carpet that lay before the window seat and faced Ana with icy hauteur.

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly.

Ana froze, barely even blinking. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are obviously not a Rani of the House Sadira—if such a House even exists...are you?”

And closed the little book and clutched it tightly in her hands. “No, Rani. I am not.”

Melantha Sarojin’s perfect brows rose in mute surprise. She recovered her aplomb swiftly and pressed on. “You’re not a Rani at all, are you?”

“No. How did you know?”

“A friend of mine told me that my son was championing the cause of Avasan yevetha. He happened to mention that Avasans, when deprived of their leaf become instantly yevetha because they have no cree. Though you are Avasan, you have a cree. A dascree, unless I’m very much mistaken.”

Ana shook her head. “You’re not mistaken, Rani.”

“I thought as much.”

The Rani seated herself in a chair across from Ana, smoothing her pantalons.

Ana had the strong impression she’d sat down because her legs were shaking. She watched as the Rani took a moment to adjust the impressive collection of rings on her delicate fingers. Their eyes collided as the older woman raised hers to Ana’s face.

“Why didn’t you lie? You could have told me that since your family was originally from Mehtar you had a raicree.”

“I may not be a Rani, but I am Rohin. That much is true. I won’t lie to you. I hate lies. I’ve disliked this subterfuge. I was resigned to being a dasa in this household. Your son wouldn’t accept that. He felt it was unjust. This is the way he...dealt with the injustice.”

“How, then, did you get your dascree?”

Ana sighed. “I came to Mehtar to buy mining equipment unavailable on Avasa. On my first day in Kasi, I was attacked by a band of thieves. They took my money and my leaf and left me lying in a woodland near the Bazaar. Jaya happened to see me stumbling across the grounds and came to my aid. If he’d been two seconds later the Sarngin would have had me. As it was, they knew I was yevetha. They followed us. Jaya had to take me to a dalali for processing while they watched to make sure it was done.”

“So, you became his cunnidasa.”

Ana’s abdomen twisted into a knot. Her cheeks flamed. “No, Rani. Your son has never demanded it. He’s made me the keeper of my own honor.”

“Hmm. And your Avasan friend—he’s also das?”

“Yes.”

The Rani nodded. “So now you’ve gotten my son embroiled in trying to keep any more Avasans from falling into the evil clutches of some dalali.”

Ana struggled to control her temper in the face of Melantha Sarojin’s facetious tone.

“It’s not the dalali I’m worried about, Rani. It’s what becomes of them when they leave it. Jaya allied himself with us willingly. We didn’t ‘embroil’ him in anything.”

“Us?” repeated the Rani. “I think Jaya allied himself to you. I must give you credit. I’ve never seen him so completely beguiled by anyone. Or should I say ‘enchanted?’ I’ve heard things about you Rohin...” The Rani was studying her again.

Is that it then? Ana thought, when the other woman fell silent. Is she content to believe I’m just an unfortunate witch?

She was not. “So then, if you are not the Rani Ana Sadira, who are you?” Her eyes were sharp, demanding.

Ana didn’t answer.

“Well?”

“No one of any importance.”

“If you are important to my son, for whatever reason, you are important to me. Who are you? What is your name?”

Ana licked her lips. How parched they were.

“Anala Nadim,” she said.

The Rani shook her head, an odd expression twisting her mouth, then, incredibly, she began to laugh. It was one of those laughs Ana had read about in legend—pure and high and flute-like—and she wondered if one could be born with such a laugh or had to cultivate it. When Melantha Sarojin had gotten her mirth under control, she sat back in her chair and gazed at Ana through dark, glistening eyes.

“You are Rokh Nadim’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“What an incredible vise that must have put Jaya in politically!”

“And morally,” observed Ana. “That’s why I couldn’t be Anala Nadim. If anyone knew I was in his household, they’d think he was biased toward AGIM.”

The Rani chuckled. “But, of course, he wasn’t, was he?”

“No. But he was trying to help me out of my personal predicament—along with the fifty some odd other Avasans who have disappeared in Kasi in the last several months.”

The Rani was visibly stunned. “As many as that?”

“More, by now.”

“That’s why he was beaten—because someone doesn’t want their dirty little business disrupted?”

“No. That was a result of the clash between the Miner’s Guild and the KNC.”

“Was it? My friend says not and, frankly, I have more reason to trust his word than I do yours.” She studied Ana speculatively. “This has suddenly gotten very interesting. Do you know who Duran Prakash is?”

Ana’s eyes shifted involuntarily aside. “He’s the KNC legal representative.”

“He’s also my...lover. Do you have any idea what he might do with this information?”

Ana knew her face must be as pale as Mehtar’s three moons. “Yes.”

“Can you think of any reason I shouldn’t go to him and tell him everything I know?”

Ana brought her eyes back to Melantha Sarojin’s face. “I know you don’t care what happens to me or my father or my world, but I think you love your son. And I think you know what it would do to him if this came out.”

The Rani rose and moved to the door, stretching the moment unbearably.

“It’s something for me to think about, I suppose. Perhaps I’ll let you know what I decide.” She paused with her hand on the latch, her back still to Ana. “My son won’t marry you, you know.”

“That has never been a possibility.”

The Rani’s shoulders shifted. “You underestimate yourself—but you must realize that the children of such a union would be...unacceptable. Pale half-castes. Accursed.”

“Not on Avasa.”

Now the Rani turned, her eyes black and glittering as the jet beads at her tawny throat. “Jaya will never go to Avasa. His place is here—as the head of the Saroj, Nathu Rai of Kasi and One of the Nine, in his time.”

“I know that.”

“As long as we understand each other,” said the Rani. Her departure was silent and sweet-smelling.

Ana closed her eyes and slumped in sudden exhaustion. “I will never understand you,” she whispered.

oOo

A bhakta was set by Ji upon the Upward Path to tread it in search of his Beloved. He carried a gift for her near his heart which he would give her when she said to him the hidden Word which only the Lover, the Beloved, and the God of All know.

One day he passed by a garden of great beauty and heard a sweet voice singing strange songs. He entered the garden and found in it a fountain of the most delicious beverage. The color was golden, the scent was of the jambu, the sound it made as it fell into its bowl was the song he had heard.

How the bhakta thirsted for the taste of the drink! How he longed to bathe in the golden liquid! But he had taken a vow not to rest but in the Garden of his Beloved, not to drink until he reached the Fountain of his ultimate desire.

He turned to go, closing his ears to the song of the golden water, and saw the most beautiful of fruits hanging from the most wonderful of asok trees. He realized suddenly how hungry he was.

A voice like a soft rain spoke, saying, “You may have the fruit, O bhakta, and the water also, if you give to me the gift you carry near your heart.”

The bhakta turned and saw a Devi—the Essence of Beauty—standing before him. His heart told him to leave the place, but he sat down in the shade of the asok tree where the golden fruit of non-sorrow hung just before his face and where he could see the fountain and the Devi who sat on its rim. The longer he sat, the more beautiful the garden seemed and the more at home he felt there.

“Perhaps,” he told himself, “this is my Beloved. Perhaps I am supposed to be here. But she has not said she is my Beloved. She has not revealed the hidden Word. How can I know for certain?”

He pondered his dilemma a bit more, then thought, “If I taste the fruit and the water, surely then I will know if this is the right Garden. Surely then she will tell me the Word.”

So the bhakta took the fruit from the asok tree and bit into it. The taste was as wonderful as he had imagined. He went to the fountain and drank—just a sip at first, then he drank his fill. He ate more of the fruit and drank more of the water. Then, sleepy and content, he lay down and slept while the Devi stroked his hair and sang.

When he awoke, the garden was gone, the Devi was gone, and his gift was gone with her. He no longer had it to give to his Beloved. More horrible still, was that the Path was no longer clear, for the sand of the desert had covered it.

He found its traces and stumbled along it, alone and afraid, hoping for a glimpse of the Devi. He journeyed long and, with every step, the taste of the fruit and the memory of the song twisted themselves more deeply into his heart until he found that whatever garden he passed by, he compared it to that first one, and found it lacking. And because he was afraid of finding his Beloved in each one, but had no gift to give her, he never dared to step within.

So he wandered, carrying the memory of the Devi’s Garden always in his heart. The taste of that fruit and that water had ruined for him all other refreshment. So, he said, “The fruit I ate was not asok (non-sorrow) but asat (nothing).”