Golden eyed Swara, above;-)

Chapter ten

Aithne

Either it was his roots buried somewhere in the deep forests of Vajrateerta, where the land smelled of blood and had been nourished with many brave lives forsaken for its welfare, or simply a trait he had inherited from his warrior forefathers; Sanskar was always fascinated by blades.

Not in a violent, blood thirsty way that would drive him with the desire to sink the shinning death in to a pulsing heart, but in a more composed and artistic manner. The length and weight of a sword felt natural to his grip, the cold hilt would fit there like an extension to his arm, moving almost in an athletic, artful way with a sharp yet gentle movement of his wrist. As the edges, sharp enough to bring an instant death, cut across the air around him, in swishing motion, he would feel calmer to think and process more wisely.

For most Vajras battles were means to vent out their aggression, to this peculiar one it was a meditation that pressed the aggression deep within his mind and brought forth the much needed tranquility. It was general knowledge for the folk in Agnidyuth fortress that if you see Yuvraj practicing at the middle of the night, he is disturbed, very, very so. It would not be wise to approach him right then, even for the best of cause, unless you wish to partake in a deadly dual.

Sanskar was passionate about blades; he had mastered the art of fencing from the elven master swordsmen and refined the art by practicing with Kavita in the long lost years. In every establishment where he lived, there was a room dedicated for this purpose. With wider space, quiet surroundings and many blades hanging from the walls. Most of them were possessions of value, some for the history, some for the finesse of elven merchandise, some for the legends who owned them before they came in the hands of the young prince of Vajra.

"Aithne" or the blade of flame was one such possession. It was the only existing blade of the trio of Agni, the swords of ancient folktales of elves*. The three blades were known, Aithne, Asani and Miza, each the conqueror of the three elven kingdoms, Vajrateerta, Kaaldwaara and Akashanagara respectively. The blade was slender, made of elven steel, its hilt silver and embossed with eerie looking agates with crackles like fire reflected upon them. The blade, rested in a glass case, where the air and moisture would not touch it, nor would Sanskar's thoughts touch the certain edge of a memory that blade was capable of evoking. The blade of Vajrateerta, had not been in the hands of Vajras for several centuries. It had belonged to the Anjanis when their king had been the Vajra, and then passed down to his daughter and snatched by his son Pratula. The acts of that elf, driven by his lust for power and shortsightedness, had brought Aithne back to the hands of a Vajra, its reputation however marred with a repulsive memory.

Asanikshestra, closer to borders of Akashanagara, 31st October 2005

The fifteen year old Sanskar had never been left behind by his father before. He had been on battles, the clashes, the cuts or the blood did not frighten him. But the view of the post battle field, lying in front of his eyes, stilled his heart with a cold dread he felt rather unfounded at the moment.

Asanikshestra was literally mire land, the hooves of their stallions sinking in to the sludge as they went on, the wind fusty and blabbering against the clumps of tall weed in random places. There were pools of muddy water, strained from the layers of decayed mud, they reflected the murky sky above, and smudged themselves as they passed by. He caught his reflection in one of them, as they rode on, trying to search for their king among the perished and dying. The thought had brought the dark look in his face, the masked yet fathomless dread in his eyes. In his reflection, the two characters merged in to one frame of illusion, the composed prince handling the matter and the broken son, in search of his dying father.

Agni, clasped his shoulder gently. The riders who went ahead were gathered there, around a pool of water already strained with blood. Looking at the faithful guardian of the queen mother, Sanskar nodded once, before dismounting. The man looked ready to offer him comfort. But that was out of the question. He turned to Agni, before joining the inner circle of men and said in a lower yet firm tone.

Go back to Agnidyut and inform Devi Nanda, tell her we are bringing the Vajra home.'

The men around them fall silent at his words. They did not turn to look at him, or to offer their condolences. But the words had made it clear to them. The prince had taken over.

Agni nodded once, before disappearing in to the air around him. In another time, the spectral show would have gained some mummers, but the men were engaged and did not notice his stunt for that once.

As he approached the men parted to give him way. The barrier of heads, between him and his father lifted to the atrocious sight. His father, lying in the pool of blood, the Aithne buried deep in his heart. A breath left his lungs rather loudly, as Sanskar rushed to his father, kneeling on the sludge uncaringly, he clasped the hands of the king, pursing his lips.

A warrior dies in the grounds of battle, from the enemy's blade and in the arms of his kin...a death of valor it is then.'

Sanskar said nothing as his thumb caressed the back of his father's palm. The king gave him a rather painful smile.

Aren't you going to tell me I'll be alright?'

He squeezed his father's hand.

You're alright father, only a little weak, there's no need for me to say that.'

True,' the king's tone was weary. Take the blade off Yuvraj.'

I will not touch the traitor,' Sanskar said stiffly. Aithne the sword of Vajra, feasting on his blood...'

Is not unheard of.' His father finished the sentence for him. Swords are creatures of war, they feast on blood and are lured in to quenching their thirst before all else. They don't have minds of their own; the thoughts of the yielder either turn them in to saviors or monsters. Do not blame Aithne, but the hand that yield it.'

Father...'

Pull it out Sanskar, the blemished past of Aithne is washed away in Vajra's blood, it is time she finds a new master.'

Kolkata, 18th March, 2015

His father's words were still afresh similar to the wounds on his psyche. Sanskar let his slender fingers trail a line along the cold steel of Aithne's blade. There was the power of elven magic crafted in to the cold metal that pulsed under his finger tips. The blade was responding to his thoughts. Sanskar did not enjoy the connection Aithne had constructed to his psyche over the years. No matter what the allure was, the call of power aside, it was the blade that claimed his father's life, resulted in his mother's death and perhaps of many more. Aithne was un-forgiven, yet.

It was lighter than most of the elven weapons and the hilt smoother. He picked it up, his grip tightening around the hilt. Aithne, pulsed in to life under his palm. The power she unleashed, running to meet his nerves. Sparks of power seeped into his mind, as of roots of Aithne was dipping in to the water of his notions, reading deciphering his thoughts and responding. The blade slashed through the air.

Aithne was starved from years. In the hands of her previous yielders she had grown to depend on hatred, the emotion that consumed the heart, Aithne consumed it. The anger, frustration, rage would fuel her to contentment and Sanskar untrue to his warrior clan in Aithne's opinion had denied her of that joy for so long.

His mind was too complex for such primeval emotions, layered that it was hard to seep in to. Aithne could only assume what it would be to taste his wrath; the mere thought was enough to set her ablaze with stimulation.

Aithne's yielder was unsettled that day. She could decipher the turmoil of thoughts forming whirls of confusion within his mind. He was frustrated with himself and the thought tasted addictive. His movements were fluid as he slashed the air with the precise edge of the sword, leaping back and forth the practice room. They had been there from the wee hours of dawn, battling off memories of a certain dream that had enraged the Vajra prince; until the object of his fascination decided to grace them with her presence, and walked in, uninvited to the practice room.

Sanskar's mind was preoccupied. Firstly it was the dream he had woken in to, then it had been the cards Dida forced him to pull out. He twisted his wrist in a circular motion moving the Aithne through the air as the image of Justice loomed to the surface of his mind. Alter his path...while he can.

So the fate wanted him to abandon his mission? Why? He would like some answers from the Justice before he was sentenced for trying to make amendments. What was the justification the eye would possibly offer him? That she did not know? But she is the eye, the eye has to know.

He would deliver justice to those who had suffered the evil ploy, and then Justice can appear anytime she wants and punish him, reward him as she pleases. But not before that. Till then she can remain frozen in Dida's cards. As for the Hermit, who was supposed to lead him on the path of light, he was looking forward to meet that guy. At least some answers would do well to everyone.

He sighed and wiped his forehead with his wrist, in the moment when his eyelids closed, the visuals of the dream returned to him. The pulsing power of Aithne only fueled the fire within him. It seemed almost enjoyable to burn in those thoughts, the memories of an illusion event. Aithne seeped deeper in to his thoughts, greedily licking on the thoughts, blemishing them, blurring his senses. He had always known the blade was wicked, but never had it managed to have this kind of authority over him.

It was then Swara walked in. She had lost her way back from Shobha's study or as she was certain, the house had played a trick on her. The allure of thrill she felt earlier had led her to a staircase lost in mild darkness and eventually led her to the closed door of the practice room. As she turned the handle it opened, revealing to be unlocked.

The pull was too strong here. It was a power that radiated itself, pulsing from some point inside the room now lit in the morning light. Straps of sunlight littered the floor, dazzled in the air and reflected from the shiny edge of the blade on her face. Blinding her for a moment and then drawing her eyes to the swordsman practicing in the middle of the empty room.

He was dressed too casual to match any of the elven swordsmen she had seen before. His tee-shirt clinging to his skin, drenched with sweat highlighting the structure of his lean yet muscular frame. His movements were fluid, as he glided through the space, sharp and fast yet artistic and athletic. The man was a pro in fencing that the blade looked weightless and natural in his grip, his motion almost a sensuous dance.

She had been so lost in the sight to notice herself being noticed or to avert the blow that came her way. Sanskar who concluded her to be a fragment of his over-imagination did not hesitate to struck her with Aithne either. By the time Swara's senses reined themselves in, the blade was coming for her, in a flashing speed.

Giving in to her instinct rather than intelligence Swara gripped the blade that came for her throat. The stinging edge cut in to her palm and seeped in to her flesh, thick trails of blood dripping down the cold steel, yet the monster stilled in its deadly move.

Aithne stopped pulsing for a moment, the veil of her power lifted off Sanskar's mind. He stared at the golden eyes, turning glossy in the pain inflicted upon them. His mind numb with the shock, his fingers loosened around the hilt. Aithne dropped to the floor with a disappointed clatter, fresh blood still glistering upon her blade.

Her hand was burning, bleeding and agonizing. Swara held her wrist, pursing her lips, the cut was deep but the pain was surprising. An ordinary blade was not capable of giving such a level of ache and that was not what stunned her. The white hot pain felt familiar. Unconsciously her mind reflected to the dream she was having for years now, where the silver eyed stranger stabbed her to death. It was the same pain that soared through her then. Clutching her wrist with fingers sticky with her own blood she knelt on the ground. Her eyes shifted to the blade, lying on a pool of sunlight. This was the blade that would claim her life...someday.

Sanskar watched her, still in numb stillness. The eye was there in reality, kneeling before him. Her petite frame shivering in agony. Her eyes flattered and a few drops of tears landed on the already forming pool of blood, before she looked up at him. She need not have. He was already beside her, gently grabbing her elbow and pulling her to her feet. Unknown to the other both were glad of her long sleeved dress which stopped their skins from touching, for neither wanted the other to have a glimpse of their future at the moment.

Sanskar dragged her to the washroom nearby and yanked her hand under the running tap. Swara flinched, as the ice cold water hit the raw and bleeding skin. The water that drained off in to the basin was a pale red in color.

What are you doing here Miss Gadodia?' He asked after a moment. Swara looked up at him surprised. Should not he be apologizing for attacking her first? What a rude character!

I was summoned here for an interview Mr. Maheshwari.' She told him in an unflinching tone. By Mrs. Bose, what are you doing here?'

Sanskar crooked an eyebrow, turning off the tap and looking up at her.

This is my house,' he said shortly. Mrs. Bose is my grandmother.'

Uh, oh.' Swara said, unintentionally fisting her injured palm and wincing in pain as blood started to flow again. The cut turned red from pale rosy color the washing had given it. 

Silly girl!' Sanskar muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the cut bleeding afresh. Come,' he said turning to leave. That needs tending to.'

No; thanks' she said rather coldly. That initial comment did not go unnoticed by her. She frowned at him, as he turned to look at her. It's just a cut.'

Miss Gadodia, I wasn't offering you a choice.' His tone turned rather rigid. Come with me!'

Swara folded her arms and stood on her spot.

Neither was I, Mr. Maheshwari. I'm perfectly fine.'

There was a pause, in which both of them glared at the other. Sanskar was furious, no one, not even Aryamaan the man who was proud to hate him, would dare to argue that way. He was the prince of Vajras for heaven's sake!  Swara was offended, he had attacked her, dragged her in here, called her a silly girl and still expected her to let him treat her cut, even without an apology? Who did he think he was...a king?

He had acted on impulse and she had been too lost to stop him. Sanskar gripped her uninjured hand and pulled her along with him, out of the wash room and in to Dida's painting studio nearby. It had been a full minute after he had made her sit in the plush sofa by the window and left to fletch the first - aid box, Swara realized that no visions came from their brief skin to skin contact. She was sure, the last time they touched, when he saved her after the accident, she had seen something, although she could not recall what exactly that was. Then, what had happened now?

Sanskar who returned carrying the first - aid sighed. So the folktales about Aithne were not as baseless as many thought of them to be. Its venom would even strike the eye powerless for a while.

*

The island of spirits, 18th March 2015

On the gray shrine, everyday is dark. There is hardly a difference between night and day, or the seasons. The sky is always murky gray, with angry purple clouds hiding the sun and the world below was lit only by occasional lightning, which was followed by thunder that rattled the environment with their roars. It was always misty, giving the trees, the stone walls of the temple of sprits and the ruins that surrounded them an eerie look. It was always cold, freezing, just like the last days of autumn, where the ground was frozen yet no snow had yet graced the land.

The cries of a child, hardly six years of age was ringing through the grotesque silence. Suvanna gripped the pillar behind her, with her hands and bit her lip, her eyes still unwaveringly fixed upon the high priestess of the gray shrine.

It was the day to repay the spirits for all the powers they had blessed the priestesses with. And the land of the spirits had to be natured with pure blood. It was time for the sacrifice. Suvanna was resolved not to look at the child. The pale, sickly thing made her stomach churn with disgust. But her eyes did fall upon him.

He was terrified as if knowing his fate to come. His young eyes wide and his limbs curled in to hit body. He was pale, shivering, partly from the freezing weather and partly from the terror seeping through his veins.

He reminded her of her own self, hiding in some corner of the Padmapeeta palace so that her father could not put her to punishment when he was angry. She had tasted that terror and the words left her lips before she processed them.

Is there no other way?'

A whisper of shock, a joined intake of breath, ran through the circle of priestesses, as the high priestess still with the dagger in her hand, turned to face Suvanna.

Is it a question or a request, novice?'

A question; mistress.'

Born out of curiosity or sympathy?'

Both.'

The older woman reached Suvanna in her usual gliding movement, her cloak swishing after her and stood so close, her gray and empty eyes staring in to Suvanna's deep brown ones.

Honest and brave...yet foolishly investing upon those emotions, that makes you weak.' She said then. Let go of those moments of weakness novice, rise above those petty emotional restrains, and embrace the spirits and their way.'

I have, mistress.'

Prove it.' The high priestess ordered, holding out the dark dagger. Make the sacrifice, both of a pure blood and that weak part of your soul.'

Suvanna took a step back, shaking her head. The high priestess did not move even an inch, no did her gaze shift from Suvanna's.

Kill the boy, or leave the gray shrine forever. Choose the princess of Anjanis, what is of most value, revenge or justice?'

*

Kolkata, 18th March, 2015

He knelt at her feet. Gripping her wrist in his gentle hold, pressed the cotton ball dipped in disinfectant against her cut. Swara hissed, pressing her lips together as the liquid stung against her bleeding cut. Her hand jerked unconsciously and he tightened his hold watching her squeeze her eyes shut in pain.

He wondered if she had been injured by swords before. It was highly unlikely considering she spent most of her years in the peaceful city of Nagas. But then again, Mohan was her mentor; Sanskar would be a fool if he believed Mohan did not teach her to defend herself.  Turning her hand in his, as he applied the disinfectant and dabbed the blood away, Sanskar observed her hand. It was petite alright, her fingers slender and pointed, her skin smooth. The skin around her knuckles were darker, he narrowed his eyes. Only hand to hand fighters would have that kind of marks on their knuckles, obtained through constant practice that put them through friction.

So Mohan taught her to fight, huh?

What are you looking at?' She shot at him, rather abruptly, trying to snatch her hand away. Sanskar looked up at her, unfazed as he was sure of his grip.

Are you on run from a serial killer? Why are you so edgy all the time?'

After almost slitting my throat you're asking me that, Mr. Maheshwari?'

You should choose your enemies wisely Miss. Gadodia.' He told her, applying the yellowish paste of the cream on her cut and sealing it with a plaster. You have no reason to hate me yet.'

I don't believe I have much of a choice when it comes to enemies Mr. Maheshwari and even you seem to be determined to hate me from the beginning.'

Not wanting you on my working crew was a professional decision Miss Gadodia.' Sanskar said calmly. I have nothing against you, but I can hardly afford a fire on board.'

I don't set fire everywhere I go!'

But you have already done that two times haven't you? I think that was the only times when you father performed that trick?'

That was not me it was...' She stopped, gulping the rest of her words and cursing her carelessness. But the damage was already done.

Sanskar watched her curiously now his eyebrows raised.

If you weren't the Janki Gadodia in the first accident, who are you?'

Swara stood up abruptly jerking her hand off his hold. She looked around for an excuse.

I need to get going.'

Sanskar rose after her, rather gracefully.

Come on, I'll show you the way.' He said pleasantly. You owe me an answer Miss Gadodia, we will engage in that conversation some other time. After all, now that we'll be traveling together, there'll be plenty of opportunities right?

*

20th March, the cruise ship

The ocean was endless. The soaring wind around them and beyond it the untouchable charm of silent serenity. The sun was already dipping down, over the sandy gold skyline to the pale orange waves. That was where Lakshya found Ragini, on the first evening of their cruise journey. She was on the lower level of the deck, leaned against the railing and staring at the sunset rather moodily.

Are feeling seasick?' He asked her, as he joined her. She was jerked out of her trance rather rudely by his sudden appearance; nevertheless she turned to him and smiled faintly.

I was, a little.' She said then nodding at him and at the same time trying to brush the stray locks off her face. But now I'm feeling alright.'

There was a pause as Lakshya also, leaned against the railing and turned sideways so that he could see her while the talked. Ragini turned to him as well her eyes wide as usual and the wind messing her hair with zest.

You're missing her aren't you?'

Huh?' She looked puzzled for a moment.

Janki? Is this the first time you're travelling without her?'

Ragini nodded again and then shrugged a little.

But it's not like I'm travelling "without" her. She is here, just we're not together.'

I'm glad she made it,' Lakshya agreed rather unwillingly. But I would rather if she was travelling with us instead of Mrs. Bose in her VIP suite. At least we would see more of her.'

I know,' Ragini said slowly. But we will see her at practice, that's the bright side!'

You know Ragini,' Lakshya said with one of his dazzling smiles. This is what that makes you a special person. You see a bright side in everything.'

Umm, not everything.' Ragini corrected him. Her eyes fixing themselves upon her burn mark bearing hand.

No one can see a bright side in every single thing. Sometimes you have to appreciate what you have and let go of what you can't have.' Lakshya advised her in a tone that did not match his always easy going persona. Ragini blinked and looked in to his eyes glittering in the setting sun.

Easy for you to say, when you have everything.' She told him. It was true. At least from her point of view. Standing there in the golden aura of sunset, he looked perfect. Just too perfect that it broke her heart. It was one thing to know that you are flawed but another to acknowledge it. People who don't have much can't let go of what they come to possess easily.'

Lakshya watched her in silence as she blinked and looked down, a finger absentmindedly caressing her scarred hand and her eyes following its trail. The wind brushed her hair in to her face, shielding her from the setting sun and screening her teary eyes from the world. He stretched his fingers and brushed them off her face, tucking the strands behind her ear gently.

You're very beautiful you know.' He told her with certainty and looking at the sincerity in his eyes and still feeling the tingling his fingertips left on her skin with their gentle brush, she believed him.

*