by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

— CHAPTER 20 —

In which the search is on and Ana prays for a chance of escape.

oOo

“Duran Prakash has left Kasi.”

Mall Gar made his report before the three other members of the Inner Circle in whom the Deva Radha had placed her trust. They were two Dandin and the Vadin of the Port Zone, Rakesh Bithal, who was, himself, head of the Balin Order. Also in attendance were Hadas Gupta—in his capacity as a witness—and Rockh Nadim.

“At least, so his aide informs me,” the Zone Commander continued. “He was allegedly called away yesterday morning on some urgent business in Kalimpur. I asked to speak to Vrksa-sama, who gave me the same story—that he dispatched Prakash to Kalimpur. So, I called the KNC offices there. They confirmed his arrival and claim that he is presently in conference with the branch managers.”

He glanced at the Deva sitting regally in her carved and ornamented chair and found he was still awed.

“Yesterday morning?” Sri Radha frowned. “Apparently Prakash-sama is establishing an alibi.”

Sri Elui squinted at Hadas, who sat uneasily in one of the box seats reserved for visitors to the Inner Chamber. “Are you sure Prakash-sama was the man you saw?”

“The holo the Commander showed me was the man I saw at the dalali,” he replied. “I’m certain of it.”

“That man has my daughter,” said Rokh Nadim. His back to the assemblage, he gazed from the chamber window to the courtyard below. “We must find him and get her back.”

“I’m not certain he has your daughter,” said the Deva, “but if he is in Kalimpur, we must certainly bring him back. Vadin Bithal, I would like to send a small detachment of Balin to Kalimpur to see to this detail.”

The door chime sounded before he could respond and the Deva touched her console, causing a holographic image of the visitor to appear before her seat. It was an Asra courier, seeming to look wide-eyed into Radha’s face. She clutched a piece of drawing mat.

“Yes, Rua?”

“Pardon, Holy One, but this message was found sitting on the Holy Book in the Hall of Honor. It is addressed to the Inner Circle.”

“Bring it to us.”

Radha banished the image and caused the door to open. The courier scurried in, bowing, and handed the crude, folded bit of mat to the Deva. She thanked and dismissed the girl, waiting until she was gone to read the message.

She frowned, her face creasing delicately. “It appears that Prakash-sama has more than an alibi. The Workers’ Coalition claims that they have Anala Nadim and that they will kill her if Rokh Nadim does not withdraw the Guild’s petition.”

oOo

“How can they know we’re involved?” Nigudha Bhrasta adjusted his hood so he could see his eyes, then studied his reflection in the glass above the sumptuously laid sideboard in his officesuite.

Behind him, Duran Prakash made a chopping gesture with his hand, anxiety oozing from his every pore. “The Sarngin contacted my office-“

“Yes, I know. And you have an alibi. Kalimpur confirmed you were there. You can’t be in two places at once.”

“Damn you! How can you be so calm? Bel Adivaram knows we’re involved and they’re searching Kasi for him right now. If they find him-“

“If. ...I am terrifying in this hood, aren’t I? Do you think our little Avasan friend is impressed?”

“I think you have more important things to contemplate than how much fear you inspire in the women you control. There have been Sarngin at Adivaram’s house. Rishi reports that the dalali is crawling with them. All asking questions about the Vadin’s habits. There are even Balin patrolling near his residence. Balin, do you hear? Do you know what that means? That means the Circle is alerted. We have awakened Indra, my friend, and He hunts us.”

His companion poured himself a cup of tea. “No, He hunts Bel Adivaram. We are protected.”

“Protected by what?”

“By a Rohin witch, perhaps.”

“Now you’re mocking me. You don’t believe-”

“No, but you do.” Bhrasta’s nod took in Duran Prakash and the third man who sat silently in the window casement, staring absently through the tinted glass and stroking the black velvet hood in his hands.

“The woman is a hostage, not an amulet,” Duran protested.

The man in the window spoke. “The woman is more than a hostage, Duran. She’s a fountain of sacred power.”

“There, you see? The Mystic has spoken.”

Prakash stared at his superior, increasingly uncertain of the direction his mind was taking.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Adivaram isn’t one of us and he’s soft. He’s a slave to his greed. If that can make him compromise his loyalties, imagine what abject fear and humiliation will do.”

Bhrasta nodded. With a parting glance at his reflection, he turned to face Prakash. “If the Circle suspects our good Vadin of heinous sins, then he has outlived his usefulness to us. We have no choice but to cut the connection.”

“Cut-?” Prakash shook his head, pretending for a moment not to understand. “And just how do you propose to do that? Adivaram is a member of the Vrinda Varma and One of the Nine, not some barely literate yevetha.”

“Yet, he is just as prone to frailty as that accursed yevetha, is he not? You concentrate on handling our business with the Circle. That’s paramount, Duran. AGIM must not break our hold on Avasa. Nor can we afford to relax our efforts to control the Circle’s legislation in that area. If those miners gain any real independence, our empire will collapse.”

“I’m well aware of the ramifications.”

“Now that you’ve established your alibi and the Workers’ Coalition has assumed responsibility for the Nadim woman’s abduction, we’re covered. Anything they can squeeze out of that Sarojin Rani is just supposition and hearsay. Unless, of course, you admitted more to her than you’ve told me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“No, I think I would know if you had.”

Prakash fixed his companion with a direct gaze. “Tell me something, old friend. If worse came to worst, would you cut my connection, too?”

He was vaguely aware of a stirring from the direction of the window; perhaps the answer to this question was also significant to the so-called Mystic.

“I’m not a fool, Duran. And I know your worth. You’re simply not expendable to me. Besides, as you said, we’re friends.”

“I had thought so.”

“Good. Please continue to think so.” Nigudha Bhrasta deftly loosened the hood and pulled it off, smoothed his graying hair, and sipped his tea. “You look worn out. Go to your office and rest. Handling the Circle will take all your wits.”

oOo

 “He’s a very anxious man, Nigu,” observed Bhrasta’s companion when Duran Prakash had made a hurried exit.

“He is also possessed of a supreme sense of selfpreservation. He will do nothing to compromise me.”

The Mystic nodded, then glanced down at the hood in his hands. “The woman...you will not harm her.”

It might have been question or command. Nigudha Bhrasta glanced at the speaker with a mixture of amusement and irritation. “Don’t worry, I won’t wring the Jadu out of her.”

The other man rose from his window seat and smiled. “Nigu, you are an irreligious blasphemer. The fact is that you couldn’t ‘wring the Jadu out of her’ if you tried. You don’t believe, you aren’t disciplined, and you have no capacity. I simply don’t want her harmed.”

“You care about her, do you?”

“Deeply. She is not only beautiful, but brave. And she is a kindred spirit—called to a spiritual path, as am I.”

Bhrasta uttered a sharp laugh. “You have a damn strange definition of spirituality, my friend. You entangle yourself in subterfuge, treachery, the blackest of politics, gross violence-“

The Mystic shrugged. “All illusion, Nigu. All steps in an insignificant dance. The wealth and power you think is an end in itself is merely a means to an end. It is not a destination, but a path.”

“So? What is at the end of your path, my oh-so-spiritual friend?”

“Surata, for one thing—that consuming Bliss that is at once physical and spiritual—and power of a different sort than your rather limited appreciation can afford you.”

Bhrasta shook his head and sighed in feigned aggrievement. “Why do I tolerate your sanctimonious abuse? In all the years of our acquaintance, I have never really understood you. What power can possibly be more worth having than what I command as the head of this very material empire?”

“Consider, Nigu: you have a certain power, and the members of the Inner Circle have a certain power—most especially someone of the spiritual stature of the Deva Radha. Whose power do you think is greater?”

“Mine, of course, but you will tell me I’m wrong.”

“Indeed. You command the material assets of men, and thereby, influence their physical existence. Our Deva commands the spirits of earth and heaven—the devas, the jinn, the atman itself—which, in turn, have a great influence on our baser material existence. Therefore, her power more is complete. I, too, have a certain power over—or at least an intimate and refined knowledge of—the elements and workings of the physical world. The greatest power would be a combination of these things, would it not?”

“You think coupling with our captive Rohina will grant you that mighty combination? Why will it not grant me the same? Yes, yes, I know—I lack the faith, the discipline, and the capacity.”

Nigudha Bhrasta shook his head yet again and favored his friend with an indulgent smile. “I sometimes think your mysticism has completely overwhelmed the very shrewd and logical mind I so admired. No matter. I admit, between the two of you, you and Duran keep me quite entertained with your visionary and occult prattle. I wish you all the surata you can tolerate.”

The other laughed softly. “I thank you. You know, Nigu, every soul is drawn to the unearthly. Even yours. You cannot deny that our occult prattle, as you call it, compels a certain fascination. Otherwise, you would not this moment be so nervously anticipating a union with your hostage.”

Bhrasta set down his tea cup with a clatter, knowing his hands had been visibly unquiet. A bit of the liquid sloshed onto the top of the sideboard. He wiped it up with his hood, irritated.

“Nonsense. She’s beautiful, as you yourself pointed out. And, yes, brave. And exotic. A heady combination. I find her sexually compelling.”

“You are surrounded by sexually compelling women, Nigu. Admit it—is there not, in your heart of hearts, the tiniest expectation that this woman will be different? That you will find in her deeps your prior conquests did not have?”

“If I do, it is only because you and Duran have so filled my head with your arcane...“

“Prattle?”

“Ah, but look...“ He glanced down at himself and laughed. “See what you’ve done with all your talk of surata and ‘deeps?’ I am not nervous, but I am aroused. You will excuse me..?”

The other pressed his palms together and bowed slightly, mockingly. “You will do her no harm,” he repeated.

oOo

Ana lay on her back on the bed, staring at the embroidered awning above it. A tether now ran beneath her from her manacles to the head board. The manacles kept her arms at her sides with a connecting “leash” that also ran beneath her body.

She was clad in a gown of nearly liquid red with golden clasps at the shoulders and bodice. It was a wedding gown, and at any other time she would have thought it beautiful, but not here, not now.

She had considered trying to escape when the dasa had come in to bathe and dress her, but the woman had been accompanied by a huge, stone-faced guard who made it very clear that resistance would be instantly punished.

In the bath, she had tried to sway the dasa, but the woman was intractable. Taciturn and nearly silent, she went about the business of giving Ana a thorough scrubbing. She pulled her hair while washing and combing it out, nearly burned her while drying it, and must surely have left welts with her long nails while fastening the gown and reattaching the manacles.

“Please,” Ana begged her. “Just help me get out of here. You must realize what they’re going to do to me. Can you just let that happen?”

The woman fixed her with a dark, almost passionate gaze and said, “Sure, I know what they’re going to do. I have no choice but let it happen.” She paused, then added, “My only solace is that you won’t enjoy it.”

Ana received a bizarre epiphany. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? Then, you have every reason to want me gone. If you help-“

“They’ll only find you and bring you back. I know. Then, when he’s finished with you, he’ll punish me for helping you. He is not a pleasant man when he’s angry.”

Ana thought of the large, terrifying man with eyes like glaciers and shivered. She felt sudden and overwhelming sympathy for the dasa, a sympathy that closed her mind to the idea of escape. If there was any way out of this situation, it was beyond human agency to engineer it.

She had been laid out on the bed then, like an over-sized doll—perfumed and curried, her gown arrayed appealingly, her hair carefully arranged on the saffron-colored pillows, a necklace with a gleaming gold amulet around her neck.

Now she waited.

He came in so quietly she didn’t hear him. Her eyes were closed in prayer and when she opened them, he was simply there, watching her—a man-mountain in a black velvet hood and a silken dressing wrap of the same hue. She could feel his smile through the fabric of the hood, could see it in the chill eyes that gazed at her from the slits. He was something from a childhood jinn-tale—huge, dark and hellish.

“I must commend my friend’s sense of ritual,” he said. “He did not lie when he said that red and gold become you—with that milky skin-“ He took a step toward her, his eyes taking her in. “I have never had someone of your race, my Snowflake. This will be a novelty.”

Her mind raced. Red and gold...she had worn those colors at the Mesha Fest. Had his ‘friend’ been among the guests? Surely not. Surely she would have remembered his stance, his voice, his sense of command.

Ignoring her silence, he moved to the bedside table and filled the golden censer with herbs from a small crystal box. He glanced aside and caught her watching him. He held up the box.

“A family heirloom,” he told her. “Cut in a single piece from the largest bhasvata crystal ever brought out of my family’s first mine. In the Lake District, it was—closed down now—worthless to everyone but a sect of mystics. A beautiful place. And this...” He crumbled another pinch of the herbs into the censer’s bowl. “...is a special potion my friend concocted for me. He is, shall we say, an expert at such things. It, em, frees the Kunda powers, enhances the quest for the Bliss of surata...or so he says.”

He studied her face. “Since you are, by his account, a witch and should be able to tell, I am going to admit to you that I have never tasted the Bliss. I’m not sure I believe in it. I’m a skeptic. But I am sure if surata is real and can be had, you shall make me a believer.”

Somehow, Ana found her voice. “You cannot attain surata with me, sama. There is no love. Where there is no love, surata is impossible.”

He lit the incense, fanned it and closed the lid of the small brazier.

“Ah, but I will try.”

He turned, his eyes marking every atom of her, making her squirm inside. “I think I would like to believe. I must admit, I hope my friend is less a superstitious fool than I think.”

He lowered himself to the bed, his chill eyes on her face. “It’s true—I don’t love you. But perhaps such a great lust is elevated almost to love.” He chuckled. “Well, let’s call it passion, shall we? A nobler word.”

He inhaled deeply of the wisp of smoke that rose from the censer to waft across the bed.

“Lights down, two,” he said, and the lights in the room dimmed. “Flicker,” he added.

That, too, was done, making the place appear to be bathed in the light of a dozen torches. He appreciated Ana’s startled reaction.

“I spare no expense in surrounding myself with the most current technologies. Still, all in all, I am an old-fashioned man. A traditional man.”

He slipped a hand under the pendant that lay, heavily between Ana’s breasts; held it, cupped, in the snowy valley. She shivered, revulsion roiling beneath his touch.

“This, for example, is very traditional. It’s a wedding charm lent to me by my friend—the Mystic, I like to call him. An interesting fellow—fancies himself an historian, or perhaps a mythologist. I expect you’ll find him fascinating, if he doesn’t talk your ear off. This is a family heirloom apparently. I’m surprised he would lend me a thing of such obvious sentimental value, but I suspect he intends I be converted to his...beliefs. Of course, he, himself, will use it in the appropriate spirit. For me, it is merely another prop in his imaginary bridal bower.”

He held it up by its chain, dangling it before Ana’s eyes as if inviting her to study it. The smoke from the censer made study difficult. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes on the thing. It was a traditional kunda-oil flask, fashioned in the combined shapes of lingam and serpent. Seeing it, Ana realized for the first time what was to become of her in this ‘bridal bower.’ She had never even thought the word rape; never let it enter her conscious mind; never associated it with herself. Now it flooded her with simple terror.

Rohin discipline failed her, or perhaps she failed it; her mind raced uncontrollably in all directions. She wished she’d killed herself or goaded the guard into doing it for her. There must have been a chance of that. She wished she’d been weaker of will that night with Jaya; wished Ravi had never interrupted them. Then, at least, if her chastity had been violated, her soul would not have been.

No, that wasn’t right. Her eyes began to fill with tears of fear and despair and rage. She was losing her ability to think, to focus; she was losing her will to fight. Perhaps that was just as well.

“Tears, Rohina? Now, now. Let me set your mind at rest. I have promised not to harm you.” The admission seemed to cause him some annoyance. “I intend this to be the most pleasurable of nights for both of us. Unless, of course, you should do something to anger me, such as acting like an insulted virgin. Come now, surely you’ve shared your delights with your mahesa already.”

She shook her head, unable to muster words.

“You expect me to believe that Sarojin isn’t your lover? The reports...” There was honest surprise in his voice, a sudden increased tension in his touch. “Tell me the truth—are you a virgin, Anala Nadim?”

He might have been asking if she were made of chocolate, she thought, and wished it were in her power to laugh.

“Yes,” she said.

There was a sharp sound from the door. It swung open and a second hooded man entered the room. Her captor was on his feet with more grace than she would have expected of a man his size.

“What in the name of Indra are you doing in here? You were to wait-“

“I must speak with you. Now.” The other’s voice was tight and urgent.

“Can it not wait?”

“No. It cannot.”

“You presume upon our friendship. Get out.”

“You also presume. May I remind you that I possess certain things you very much want and need...dear friend?”

With a sound that was half-grunt, half snarl, the big man followed his ‘friend’ from the room.

Ana lay in silence and thanked Sanat-ji for the reprieve. Perhaps now, perhaps any moment, she would be rescued. The surly dasa would return to help her, Jaya would find her. But time fled and the incense burned down and sounds of argument came and went in the outer room and no rescue arrived.

Ana thought her body and spirit were separating like egg white and yolk; for brief moments she floated above herself and looked down, wondering how she, who had always been so strong and resilient, could seem so pathetic and small.

oOo

The remaining members of the Circle filed into the chamber and took their seats. Each noted the presence of the Nathu Rai Sarojin and the Rani Melantha. Each raised their eyebrows at the dour Sarngin Commander. Each glanced curiously at the Avasan gentleman who sat beside Taffik Pritam; several recognized him. None knew the young man with the Sarojin, though a few recalled having seen him at the Mesha Fest. All checked their agendas to see if they could determine why those persons were here.

The Deva Radha spoke. She announced the abduction of Anala Nadim without passion, her eyes on the faces of her peers. She went on to reveal the ransom demands of the Workers’ Coalition. When she related how the abduction had taken place at the Badan-Devaki, there was a rustle of surprise. The Deva’s eyes were on Kreti Twapar and didn’t miss the sudden contortion of his features.

She back-tracked then, explaining their Nathu Rai’s part in Ana’s subterfuge, outlining what was happening to her fellow Avasans. Describing the tactics of the dalali, the involvement of a member of the Vrinda Varma, of Duran Prakash. The last incriminating the Consortium at its highest levels. She glanced at Twapar. He was white as a summer cloud and beginning to glisten with perspiration.

“Who is it?” Lord Mandal demanded to know. “Who, on the Vrinda Varma, is involved in this?”

Her eyes still on Twapar, the Deva answered. “He is also a member of this Inner Circle. A member conspicuous in his absence.”

All eyes moved to the empty seat usually occupied by Bel Adivaram.

“No!” Kreti Twapar half rose, his voice a barely audible wheeze. “You can’t be so certain! Surely the testimony of an unscrupulous dalal-“

The Deva silenced him with a gesture. “As you will see, we have testimony from several quarters. Hadas Gupta, would you speak, please?”

The Avasan nodded and rose from his chair on the floor of the Chamber. “I was with Ana when they discovered us. We were separated trying to escape. I waited in the sub-level of the dalali until a dark blue air-car came into the alley. Three men got out. They put on hoods. One of them was Prakash-sama. I don’t know who the other men were—I couldn’t see them very well—but the man who came out to meet them and brought them the hoods was the Vadin Adivaram.”

Twapar made a whining sound in his throat. “Deva, please, are you so ready to condemn a beloved, respected peer on the strength of the testimony of this Avasan?”

“There is also,” said Jaya, “the testimony of my mother, the Rani Melantha, who can link both Duran Prakash and Bel Adivaram to an attempt to get Anala Nadim out of the House Sarojin. The testimony of the dalal implicates your respected peer in all sorts of...intrigue.”

Twapar subsided, twitching, his eyes darting from face to face.

Next to him, Lord Mandal asked, “Will we receive a full report, then? Will we hear from the Rani Sarojin?” He nodded toward where Melantha Sarojin sat, silent and pale, beside her son.

“Shortly,” the Deva assured him, “but now I must ask the Lord Twapar some questions.”

“Me?” Twapar gasped. “What could I tell you?”

“You could tell us if you know anything about Bel Adivaram’s involvement with the dalali.”

The old Lord’s eyes shrunk to tiny jet beads among the sallow folds of his face. “How could I know such a thing? He...he spent some time at the dalali. He has a large estate, needs many das to care for it.”

“You’re his closest friend, Lord Twapar,” observed the Deva. “I thought perhaps you might have been taken into his confidence. Do you know anything about his involvement with the Consortium?”

“The Consortium? No! He had no dealings with the Consortium.”

“The Consortium had not approached you—either of you—with suggestions that you should show them favoritism in this or any other case?”

Twapar cringed. “No, no. It was the Workers’ Coalition that threatened Bel—they threatened me. It wasn’t the Consortium.” His eyes jerked frantically about the room. “Although...although I believe—I believe the Consortium may be-“  He broke off and closed his eyes.

“May be what, Lord?”

“I have no proof,” he whined, sweating.

“Proof of what?” demanded the Deva, gently.

“The Workers’ Coalition is a well-organized group of zealots. Perhaps they are hiding behind the Consortium’s skirts—taking advantage of an implicit connection. You must admit, the Consortium’s refusal to condemn their actions has lent them tacit support. Perhaps, we, em, need to actively enlist the aide of the Consortium in retrieving this situation. Perhaps, now that it’s come to this—kidnapping—they’ll be willing to condemn the Coalition’s tactics and help get the Nadim woman back. If we entreat Nigudha Bhrasta-“

“What?” Jaya nearly snarled the word. “Have the KNC act as intermediary for a kidnapping they masterminded? That’s obscene!” 

“Nathu Rai.” The Deva’s tone was warning.

Jaya ignored her. “Adivaram is the only one who knows where Ana is! He gave her to them!”

“No!” Twapar’s gnarled hand knotted into a fist. “I will not believe it! I will not!” He broke off, wheezing horribly.

“Nathu Rai, you will stand down,” the Deva commanded. She turned her gaze to the old Lord. “You are not well, Lord Twapar. Perhaps you would like to be dismissed. I can see this has all been too much for your frail health.” 

The old man nodded. “I am feeling rather weak, Deva. Bel is my dearest friend. I...find it difficult to believe about him what you are asking me to believe. I think I would like to go home.”

“You may go then, if the Circle agrees.” She looked to the remaining members who, to a man and woman, nodded their accord.

Twapar rose shakily, looking as if the breeze created by the opening of the doors might fell him. He gazed around the room, his eyes glistening with emotion, then hobbled to the doors.

Jaya watched him leave, torn between suspicion and pity. So pathetic, the old man; dry as parchment mat, frail as cobweb. Could he be such an actor? Could he be party to what had happened to Bhaktasu Sarojin, to Ana?

Thinking of Ana, Jaya found himself caught, suddenly and inexplicably, in the coils of a vision so vivid, the council chamber seemed to disappear from around him.

Crystal. A box cut of bhasvata crystal. A wedding dress of red. The scent of incense. A flicker of light. The feeling of being utterly trapped. The taste of fear. His heart hammered against his ribs. 

“Commander Gar,” the Deva was saying, “if you would be so good as to make certain the Lord reaches his home? Without letting him see you, of course. The Balin are at your disposal. Please use them.”

Gar rose, bowed to the Deva and swiftly exited the room.

Jaya watched him as if through a fog, his breath coming too quickly, and tried to bring his mind back to reality.

“Do you suspect Kreti of some part in this conspiracy?” asked the Deva Paramaya.

Sri Radha shifted in her seat. “Perhaps I simply want to make certain he arrives home safely. Nathu Rai Sarojin, if you would be so kind as to give the Circle your testimony.” When he did not respond immediately, she gave him a searching glance. “Nathu Rai, is something wrong?”

Jaya brought his eyes into focus on her face. Everything was wrong.

“I’m sorry, I...just had a strong...impression of Ana.”

How was one to describe such a thing? He felt ridiculous.

Radha was not laughing. She leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped before her. “What sort of impression, Jaya?”

“A room with flickering light, the smell of incense. A man’s hands holding a box made of bhasvata.”

“That is all?”

“Fear.”

“You do not recognize the room?”

“No, Deva. How could I? Surely the place exists only in my imagination.”

The Deva sat back, nodding. “I believe you have some additional evidence to offer, as well as your first hand experiences?”

Jaya’s breathing steadied. “I do, Deva. I have the Journal my father kept before his death. I have found it most enlightening.”

“Then enlighten us also, Nathu Rai.”

oOo

When, at length, the door opened, Anala only vaguely cared. Perhaps it would be Jaya or Father or the Sarngin. It was none of those. It was a hooded man. She wondered which one. When he spoke, she recognized him as the one her previous visitor had mockingly called the Mystic.

“So,” he said, “you haven’t passed on the power...”

Unexpected words. “What do you mean?”

The man held out his hands as if in supplication. “For the love of Rama—a Rohin virgin! Do you realize what you are?” He cocked his head, as if reading her. “I assure you, I do, if my poor friend does not. As he told you, he doesn’t believe. He thinks it’s all Bogar nonsense. He is an ignorant man in some ways, interested in pleasure, power and now in humiliating your father. So, I have assured him, it matters not which of us first pierces you—it will pierce Rokh Nadim and Jaya Sarojin to the heart, as well. This is important to him—this act of humiliation. More important, I sometimes think, than his political aims. Little did he know that he had the instrument for the fulfillment of his every desire right here in his bed.”

What was he saying? Ana licked parched lips. “You were listening?”

He came to the bed now and lowered himself onto it. “I had the opportunity to have certain electronic devices installed in this chamber. I took it. He doesn’t know, of course. He merely thinks I...experienced sudden and ill-timed change of heart and an uncharacteristic inability to curb my desires. He does not appreciate...” His voice roughened with emotion. “...he does not realize, sweet Rohina, what you are. He looks at you and sees only a desirable body, a hostage, a political pawn. I look beyond the material and so see what neither my friend nor your mahesa can see—an indomitable spirit, a disciplined soul, a fountain of power. I will draw the power that Jaya Sarojin has so foolishly squandered and I will use it to free myself.”

His voice was warm, smooth, almost sweet, and strangely hypnotic. Ana’s mind swum in the flickering light and the mingled scents of the incense and her own perfume. Her body trembled as if every atom in was being shaken by minute hands. This man was mad.

“Free yourself?” she repeated.

He made a strange gesture with his head, as if shrugging off a noose.

“I call him ‘friend’—in some ways he is my captor; in some ways, I am his. I have the advantage in that I recognize that all this—the politics, the entanglements, the relationships—are illusory. The game is bigger than my friend supposes it to be.”

Ana marshaled her thoughts, struggling to follow, perhaps to lead. “And what can I give you?” she asked.

He tilted his head and gazed at her almost fondly, the eyes behind their hooded slits, soft and yearning. They were the same color as Jaya’s eyes, but there the resemblance ended. Madness had never peeked at her from Jaya’s eyes.

“You can give me yourself, dear Rohina,” he said. He moved his hands to her neck, caressing. “And, in so doing, grant me power over the world of creation. Now, I manipulate ghosts, illusions. With your gift, with the Jadu, I shall manipulate realities. Let us begin.”

A chill sliced through Ana’s heart. She opened her mouth to dissuade or distract, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips.

“No more questions. Let us begin.” He fingered the topmost close of the gown. “The old myths say the Genda Sita are children of the God of Darkness. This is one reason I have dressed you in red, you know—the color of the Sacred Flame, Indra’s color. I thought it ironic.”

“What other reasons?”

He seemed amused at her question. “What? Have I discovered a secret vanity?”

“I only seek to understand the man I join with.”

The answer apparently pleased him. He nodded. “Red is traditional for a wedding gown, of course. And though we will not be man and wife in the more traditional sense, this will be a marriage of sorts—a marriage of souls.” He paused, then added, “Then too, I have simply observed that red becomes you. Now, no further questions, Anala. We must begin.”

He loosed the first clasp, speaking to her as if he were a teacher giving a lesson. “Being the children of Darkness, say those old tales, the Genda Sita are born in the bowels of the world where their flesh never knows the saving and enlightening rays of Mitras.”

He parted the second clasp. “The myths also say that the bowels of the world are heated by the fires of Niraya Hell and that when a man makes love to a Genda Sita woman, he can feel the fire. She offers to warm him against the chill of her flesh, then sears his soul and paralyzes all sense of good and evil—all will. Fire and snow. A most paradoxical combination.”

His eyes met hers, fondly. “Of course, in this day and age, we have knowledge those ancient myth-makers did not. We know that even the children of Darkness have red blood flowing in their veins, and so, are no more or less human than we.”

He loosed the third clasp and parted the translucent folds of cloth.

“Ah!...” He laid his hand, palm down, on her breast, fingers splayed. “How dark my flesh seems against yours. And I am fair for one of my race. Fairer, even, than your beloved Jaya.”

At the sound of Jaya’s name, Ana closed her eyes, letting the tears squeeze out beneath her lids, remembering that he, too, had touched her there. Had he also noticed how pale she was? Had he thought to himself of fire and ice and the bowels of the world? Or had he thought only of flesh and blood?

She cried silently, her body quaking. She had once dreamed for herself the gift of flight. She wished she only might have for a moment the power this madman accorded her. She would stop the beating of her heart and fly from him on the wings of Yama.

“Open your eyes,” he said softly.

She couldn’t. Couldn’t look again at that hooded head, looming above her—couldn’t meet its feverish eyes.

“I said, open your eyes!” This time it was a demand.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“I will not have you rob me of that, Rohina. At the moment of surata our eyes must meet. Otherwise there can be no union—no passing of the Jadu between us. It is written: ‘The Jadu passes through the eyes in the moment of Bliss as through an open doorway between rooms.’”

He wasn’t sane. He couldn’t be sane.

“There can be no union!” Ana sobbed. “I’m a stranger to you. You don’t know me. You don’t love me. This isn’t union, it’s rape!”

He seemed appalled. “No. Not rape. A marriage of souls. A sharing of power.”

“I can’t pass the Jadu. It can’t be done.”

“Oh, but it can. I’ve made a study of the Bogar ways, lived among them in the secret caverns, steeped myself in their knowledge. I’ve learned these things from the highest priests of the Bogar. I know that while their priestesses can confer only the pleasures of the body, the Rohin can reach into the very soul, can confer not only pleasure, not only Bliss, but spiritual power. I have learned this, waiting for the day when I would find a Rohin woman who had yet to share herself with a man. Who had yet to relinquish her power.”

“Myth and lies! The Rohin have nothing to do with the Bogar!”

“You must not deny me this! Open your eyes, I beg you! Look at me! Look at me!”

He grasped her shoulders and shook her, desperation pouring from him in a torrent that overwhelmed her senses. He was weeping, and his tears fell upon her like salt rain.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, twisting her head away from him. In swift response, his hands went to her neck, fingers biting her flesh.

Yes, she thought, abstracting the pain. This is better. Let him kill me.

She was losing consciousness when she heard a chime. The pressure suddenly eased and his weight lifted. She heard his voice, disembodied, muffled, still sobbing: “What is it? What?”

“We have a visitor,” answered a man’s voice. It seemed smug, triumphant. “The Lord Twapar is here to see us.”

oOo

The Circle Chamber was silent, its occupants absorbing the evidence they had just been presented. Jaya fidgeted in his seat, the Rani stared at her hands.

“We have evidently,” said Rakesh Bithal at length, taking his eyes from the visual display before him, “been the target of this subtle—and not so subtle—coercion for sometime. Can Bhaktasu Sarojin have been the first to suspect it?”

“Perhaps only the first to suspect who was not inclined to either ignore it or fold to its pressure,” said Sri Elui. “I would like to put it to the Circle. Has anyone here been approached by anyone seeking their support for legislation or adjudication?”

There was a long silence in which many pairs of eyes traded glances full of question.

Rakesh Bithal’s expression as he surveyed his peers was particularly dark.

“Come, now,” he said at last. “It doesn’t take the Jadu to divine that there must be members of this Council who have been tested by the Consortium. Even I can feel it. I will testify that I have not, to my knowledge, been approached by any ‘lobbyists,’ but there is no shame in having been.”

“Isn’t there?” asked Narudin. “Doesn’t it imply that you are perceived as being weak, malleable, corruptible?”

“Were you approached by the KNC, Vadin?” asked Sri Radha.

Narudin scowled and fidgeted, glancing at Bithal. “Yes. I was—to my shame. I felt...filthy. To have them think I might be swayed by their enticements!”

“You were not,” said Bithal. “Glory in that.”

“I, too.” It was Lord Mandal who spoke, looking as shamefaced as Narudin. “And I must admit it has prejudiced me against the Consortium. The ‘enticements’ that came my way were delivered anonymously, but I couldn’t help but attach them to Kasi-Nawahr. Until this Workers’ Coalition stepped forward to claim them, I assumed some faction within the Consortium must be responsible. I was ashamed to have been approached in such a manner. I was more ashamed that it impaired my objectivity.”

“And so,” Radha finished for him, “you didn’t report it.”

The Vadin flushed deeply red. “How do you report a speculation? A man said to me, ‘If you proceed in this way, Ramji will certainly shine on you.’ How am I to bring that to the Inner Circle? When I said the words aloud it sounded inane. It was only in the manner of the words that I heard the bribe, felt the threat. How am I to report that?”

Radha nodded. “Is there anyone else?”

Save for the shaking of a few heads, there was no response.

“So,” mused Sri Elui, “the Consortium gets to Bel Adivaram through his dealings with the dalali. And through Adivaram, the Sarngin that have already been corrupted by Badan-Devaki are used to further terrorize our Avasan brethren. Heinous. We must determine who is ultimately responsible for them. The evidence points to at least one member of the Kasi-Nawahr Board of Directors. The questions now is, which one—or ones?”

Bithal nodded. “We will call them all in for questioning, but that doesn’t answer our most pressing problem—finding Anala Nadim. We must find Bel Adivaram and/or Duran Prakash immediately.”

“Where shall we look?” asked the Deva. “We must suspect that Prakash-sama is not in Kalimpur, or that, if he is, he arrived there somewhat later than we were told. Discovering that takes time.”

Jaya shook his head, a sudden irrational fear pushing up beneath his resolve to remain calm. “We don’t have time. The evidence points to someone within the KNC Towers. The Towers are where we should begin the search, not in Kalimpur. Kalimpur is a smokescreen, just as WoCoa was a smokescreen.”

“I agree with the Nathu Rai,” said Bithal.

A light flashed by the chamber’s large main view screen and Mall Gar’s face appeared on it, drawing everyone’s complete attention.

“You have a report, Commander?” the Deva asked.

“Indeed, Holy One. We followed Lord Twapar as you suggested. His gait was much more elastic once he left the Council Chamber. He did not go home. He went by car into the heart of the Industrial Zone. The vehicle disappeared in the block between Blossom and Nawahr Cross.”

The Deva nodded. It was no surprise. “The KNC Towers. Commander, how many men are with you?”

“Five, Holy One.”

“Leave three of them to collect Lord Twapar and apply yourself to finding Bel Adivaram. I would like both of them brought to the Circle.”

“As you wish, Deva.”

He signed off, leaving the Deva to gaze pensively at the screen.

“So, it appears our colleague has gone straight to the jinn’s lair.”

“To warn the jinn?” suggested Jaya. “Now, will you send the Balin to search the place? Adivaram may be hiding there, as well.”

“Think, Nathu Rai,” said the Vadin Bithal. “The KNC complex is vast. It would take an army of Balin to search it with any hope of finding Nadim-sa. Who can say but that the attempt to find her might not mean her death? We could, however, send a smaller force to conduct a search of Prakash-sama’s office.” He turned his eyes to the Deva.

“If we wait but minutes, we may have Lord Twapar to guide our search,” she said.

The words were so rational, yet Jaya had suddenly no room in him for rationality. He was terrified and the terror enraged him.

He slammed his fist against the arm of this chair. “She’s there, dammit! She’s in that complex! I know it!”

“How do you know?” asked Radha sharply.

“The same way I know she’s not dead. The same way I know she’s terrified and hurt-“

He teetered at the edge of that precipice. Yes, she was hurt. He knew it as surely as he knew that everyone in the chamber was staring at him. Breathing became suddenly difficult. An image formed behind his eyes that he could not shake away.

The Deva’s eyes narrowed and she leaned forward in her seat. Light from the colored panes high up in the chamber’s curved walls rippled in rainbows across her silver hair.

“Are you ill, Nathu Rai?”

Jaya barely heard her. The image in his mind was expanding in terrible detail.

The red wedding gown; the flicker of lights. Terror. Revulsion. A touch. Pain.

Jaya grasped the arm of his chair tightly enough to bruise his hands. Air refused to come to his lungs. He gasped and fought to draw himself out of the vision. It was gone suddenly, like the popping of a soap bubble, leaving him winded and shaking and aware that the fragile contact had been lost.

The Deva started out of her seat. “Jaya!”

He met the Deva’s eyes. “I can’t stay here and wait for them to catch Twapar. I swear to you that Ana is in immediate danger. I felt it. I saw it. Will you invoke the Power of Indra and order those offices to be searched or must I search them myself?”

The Deva hesitated. In that moment of hesitation, Jaya began to move toward the doors. Mall Gar’s face appeared again on the view screen, stopping him in his tracks. Gar was visibly disturbed.

“Deva,” the Commander said, “my report is...not a happy one.”

The hesitation was jarring and, for a chilling moment, Jaya thought Gar would tell them Ana was dead. The air in the room seemed suddenly thick and suffocating.

“We have heard very few happy reports today, Commander,” the Deva said. “Please continue.”

Gar glanced down, then back at his com-unit. “We have found the Vadin Adivaram, Holy One. He is dead.”

In the silence that followed, Jaya dared to breathe again. Ana was not dead. Ana was alive. But the vital link to her was still broken.

“How did he die?” the Deva asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He was apparently run down near the Spaceport by an aircar. There was no sign of the vehicle, but I suspect it must have sustained considerable damage.”

Run down. Jaya closed his eyes. Those were chillingly familiar words.

He sensed a stir in the room and heard the Deva speak. “I, Radha, Deva of the Cloud Order of the Holy Dandin, take into the hands of this Circle the reins of the Power of Indra.”

“Indra!” repeated Sri Elui, standing.

“Indra!” Each Circle member in turn pronounced the holy name and stood, giving consensus to the Deva’s declaration of autonomous power.

When all had spoken, Radha turned back to her com-unit. “Commander Gar, please take as many men as you can spare to the KNC complex. I want you to search every building. You will need no formal writ. I will meet you there and officially pass to you the Seal of Indra.”

oOo

Movement in the room brought Ana fully to herself on a surge of panic, but the person in the room was not one of her male tormentors; it was the house dasa now in a flurry of preparation. She was no longer sullen. A smile played around her lips. Ana lay still and watched her, trying to divine what was going on. At length the woman glanced over and saw she was awake. She paused in her activity.

“You angered the Mystic One. I did not think it possible. I have never seen him like that. What did you do?” Her mobile face displayed real interest.

Ana tried her throat. It hurt, but she managed to say, “I wouldn’t...open my eyes.”

The dasa seemed puzzled. “Not open your eyes? Why should he care if your eyes are closed?”

“I have the Jadu,” Ana whispered. “He thinks if he... He wanted me to give him the Gift—to pass it from my eyes to his. I wouldn’t.”

The other woman’s tawny face paled. “The Jadu?” She made a superstitious gesture. “Then you’d own his soul.”

There was real fear there. It was a fear that Ana leapt to exploit.

“Yes,” she said, trying to make her failing voice sound forceful and arch, “but, I didn’t want him. So, instead, I drove him to fury—to madness. It is your master’s soul I want, for he is a powerful man. Once I have his soul, he will never seek you out again. No other woman will even attract him. He will find you repulsive. He will send you away.”

The dasa smiled. “I think not. You see, he is sending you away.”

Ana was immediately wary. “What do you mean?”

“They are afraid. I don’t know why. Perhaps they have seen what you can do to a man’s mind. But they are taking you away. You will not be able to reach him. He will be here, with me, and you shall have only the Mystic One to play with your Jadu.” She all but spat the word. She rose, then, and resumed her duties.

“Where?” Ana asked. “Where are they taking me?”

But the other woman only continued to pack clothing and to smile. Ana was about to plead, when the door opened and the Mystic stepped through it. He was still wearing the hood, still terrifying. He waved the dasa out of the room. Ana began to shake all over. She couldn’t see his eyes—couldn’t see how much of his former madness lay there.

“So. You were not alone at the dalali, Rohina. One of your friends was with you. The old Vadin failed to mention that.”

His voice held no anger; indeed, he seemed amused.

“He saw us, you know. Just for an instant, but that was enough. Now he sends us away, you and I. You cannot be found here. It would ruin my friends.”

Reaching behind Ana’s back, he loosed her tether from the bed frame and looped it around her neck, fashioning a crude collar. He pulled it tight with supreme gentleness, holding the free end in his other hand.

“You, Rohina,” he said, his voice equally gentle, “will give me what I desire. Because it will become your desire as well. You will share with me the power of the Jadu. Do this, and I will see that my so powerful friend harms no one.”

Ji, forgive me my lies, Ana prayed. “Yes,” she whispered aloud. “Yes, I’ll give you the Jadu.”

“You are a brave woman, Anala Nadim. A selfless woman, to sacrifice all for those you love.” He gazed at her for a moment more, then said, “Do this for me, and I promise I shall use my new power on behalf of your father and his associates. You see, not only do I have certain things my friend needs, but I also possess knowledge of his dealings that would be damaging were it to be known to the Circle or the Vrinda Varma.”

“But your friend...is part of the Consortium. If you helped my father...”

“It would mean ruin for my friend, yes. All part of the dance. Empires rise and fall and rise again.” He released his hold on her tether. “Jitah, please attend us.”

At the sound of his voice, the dasa appeared so quickly, Ana was certain she’d been listening.

“Jitah, please get her ready to move.”

He left them.

Please, he had said. To a dasa. What sort of man was this who could be so cruel and yet so gentle?

When Jitah had made certain he had gone, she spoke in hushed, hurried tones. “He will take you to his safe place. To a place no one can find you. A place you will not be able to escape.”

She moved quickly, pulling the loosened loop from Ana’s neck and closing the clasps of the wedding gown. Then, she freed Ana’s hands and pulled them to the front where she manacled them tightly together.

“Now,” she said. “These only seem tight. If you twist your wrists so-“ She demonstrated with an inward, then outward roll. “-they will part. Try it—quickly.”

Stunned, heart thumping with sudden hope, Ana repeated the movements. A carefully arranged loop of the composite cord slipped free, allowing her wrists about a half-meter of play.

Jitah quickly rewound the loop, then withdrew a small, ivory lozenge from her sash. It looked like a woman’s lip brush. She held it before Ana’s face and pressed a tiny red-jeweled button in the left eye of the creature likeness—the paruta again. From its mouth sprung, not a brush, but a thin finger-length blade. Jitah pressed the dragon’s opposite eye—a golden one—and the blade retracted.

“Red for blood. Remember,” she said, and tucked the knife carefully behind the broad clasp at the waist of Ana’s gown.

“Why are you doing this? He’s sending me away. It’s what you wanted.“

“You heard him—he would cause my master’s ruin, and that would cause mine. Now,” she said, “one more thing. Master told me to drug you, but I won’t.”

She took a small vial from the ornate rack on the bedside table and opened it. Then she poured its contents into the little censer where it was quickly absorbed by the ash. She set the vial down again in a conspicuous place.

“You must make to sleep,” she told Ana.

“How soon?”

“Soon. A minute only.”

Ana took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, calming her pulse, soothing her heart. “Thank you, Jitah.”

“I do this for me and mine. You have no need to thank me. I’d as soon see you dead.” She started to return to her packing, then paused. “If they kill you trying to escape, will you haunt me?”

Ana could not quite smile at that. “No, Jitah. I won’t haunt you.”

The dasa nodded her satisfaction and went about her duties. Ana closed her eyes and prayed. It was a simple prayer: Give me the strength to take what I am given, and if I fail to escape, let me die in the attempt.