Laldasa (51 page)

“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.