Chapter 21 A

The clouds gather

The sting of a sharp blade, the force of a punch, his mind was reeling with pain and pent up frustration. He could kill that man then and there, watch him twist in agony; but that would reveal his reality, thwart his plans. Just a bit more, he has to take it all...

With a jerk, and a small gasp she woke up, a current of pain that did not belong to her, running down her spine. The wagon had bumped over something on the road, a sound of a dry branch snapping into two, under the wheel reached her ears. Megha sat across from her, his eyes focused on the piece of wood he was working on, masterfully crafting it into a face of a creature that suspiciously looked like a dragon. Straps of light from the lamp that hung on the wagon roof played across his face. She leaned back, watching his nimble fingers at work with that short knife and unknown to her a sigh escaped her lips. Megha looked up, corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

"Can't sleep?" He mused.

"The Herz would not let me," Swara replied, realizing how weary her own voice sounded. "Are we close?"

"Nearly there," he sounded dismissive. "We'll reach by first light."

"I can't believe Pratula agreed to a treaty with Nagas. It's not like he is interested in their war, especially since he has taken a peace oath with Vajras." She knew it was an old topic, but it was a safe one,  which did not include discussing her reasons behind her actions or the emotions she herself was not certain of.

"Mohan has his way with words," Megha sounded impressed with the man. "But I think he was right in saying Pratula is the real snake, although he is not a Naga." His tone carried a dark humor as he continued. "There is something he is eying, in this entire treaty business, that we do not know of or can't imagine. However," he shrugged. "That's not something we need to worry about."

"Yes, we wanted to entire the city without making trouble. We should be thankful."

Their conversation faded into silence, as it always did. There was not much left undiscussed on the matter. Swara looked out from the flapping opening of the wagon and her eyes got adjusted to the starlight slowly.

They were reaching the edge of the forest. The trees were thinning out, and ruins of some long gone establishment rose on the sides. There were parts of statues, that had long collapsed, buildings that were reduced to mounds of stones and dust, where weeds were creeping up. They pulled under a gate of sorts, still standing intact. On the top of it was a face of a dragon, it's mouth open and tongue lashed out. Ivy hid most of its body now, and one of its stone fangs were missing. Still the image send a shiver down her spine.

"Ancestors of Anjanis are known as sky folks." Magha told her. "Can you guess why?"

"The dragons?" She asked softly. "But there are no dragons now, right?"

He nodded slowly.

"The last was killed many thousand years ago. You should ask those old Nagas, they might have seen a couple." He sighed dreamily. "They say the real Akashanagara is above the clouds and only accessible to those who fly."

"They could be just stories."

Megha looked amused.

"Even after a decade in the elven lands, you don't really belong here, do you?" He said then. "You have a human way of thinking. Swara raised an eyebrow, not knowing whether it was a complement of an insult. Megha chuckled. "It's not entirely your fault, these lands don't accept someone easily." He put down his craft and rubbed his hand together. In the chill of the night his exhale rose like a swirl of mist. "The folklore says Aithne was forged in this ancient town, the steel heated in the fire of a dragon."

Aithne, she had heard that name before. It was the same sword from her vision, and then the sword with which Sanskar had cut her by mistake. She remembered the pain that seared through her veins as the blade touched her blood and shivered involuntarily.

"So?" Her tone was curious. "The blade is powerful?"

"Filthy, and pure at the same time." He replied. "It's divine because it wasn't forged in a measly fire of a swordsmith, but at the same time dragons breath poisons anything it touches, taints it beyond repair."

"I thought it was Vajra's sword, so you are supposed to say his sword was dirty?"

"Power is never a pure thing," Megha said bitterly. "It corrupts you at some point, or consumes you until the very end." He smiled at her wistfully. "You should learn more folklore. Especially since the lord of Vajras is interested in you, you won't stand a chance in his court if you take your human philosophy along."

Swara's eyes widened and her cheeks heated up.

"We're not getting married or something!" She muttered. Megha chuckled watching her expression and shifted to a better position.

"Says the girl who just turned down a perfect opportunity to return home and is chasing a man with a death wish. I believe you as much as I hope we'll run into a fire breathing dragon right now." He waggled his eyebrows. "Anyway, I've heard his step mom is lovely," he said with a silent laughter. "You would so enjoy your mother in law's company."

"Oh shut up!" Swara hit him as he rolled on laughing and the wagon bumped again into a stop. "Why are we stopping?" She asked startled and he straightened up once more.

"These are the gates of Padmapeeta," he said slowly. "Once inside, you're under the mercy of Anjanis."

**

The highest tower of Padmapeeta was called, Nethra Mandapa. It was where the king resided, and the top of the tower was created especially for the purpose of stargazing. It had a strategically positioned floor, polished to a decree that it resembled a mirror. It reflected the entire sky on a cloudless night, so the royals did not have to take the effect to look up. The conversations were hushed up by the wind up there, with only the sky above them and the rest of the palace many feet below. It was where Pratula met his spies.

He stood near the railing that night, dressed not in the heavy attire of the court but his lighter night robes. His hair swept away by the wind and hands clasped  behind his back. Pratula did not turn to look at his spy.

"The Naga envoys have approached the outer gates, my king," the man informed.

"Good," he said slowly, his cold eyes reflecting the sky. "Is she with them?"

"She is, my king."

His lips tugged into a smile that did not make a pleasant change to his features. The spy watched him curiously. He was asked to keep an eye on the Naga envoys, with no reasons explained. He was amazed, that the king was interested in peace, it just did not go with Pratula's image. That group of Nagas were healers, supposed to lend a hand during the emulations as a peace offering from Kaladwaara. Watching them during their travels he had not learned anything to contrary that fact.

"Keep your eye on her, I need to know what she does once she reaches the city, who she meets and what they discuss. Everything, is that understood?"

"Precisely my king," the man bowed and left, as usual with no questions asked. Pratula watched the silver lines of dawn appearing in the horizon, his gaze calculative. Mohan was no fool, he would not hand him the eye just like that. There has to be something he was hoping to get, or someone he was trying to reach. Pratula wondered who it could be, that made the eye itself entire the game after being incognito for so many years. But then again, Mohan had hit him where it mattered. That girl had Anjani blood, in a sense she was as much the lady of Anjani's as Suvanna was. There was a value to her presence, if he could hold her against the witch who calls herself his daughter. At the moment he just needed someone, anyone, who could turn the ministers from being awed by Suvanna.

He did not like the games his daughter was playing in the court. It seemed that she desired the throne, which he had no plans of vacating soon. The girl, could provide the perfect smoke screen but first he had to find out what drove her out, what he weakness was. That was the way Pratula operated, he knew his enemies better than they themselves.

He sighed as the sky turned shell pink. He would soon get to the truth, one way or the other.

**

Keshav did not enjoy playing around. The fate had brought him to emulations decades ago. As it is natural to many young men he had nurtured a hope of leaving the arena soon. But with the years passed and the experience building up, something had hardened inside him. He knew this was kind of a curse with no escape. In reality you never really left the arena as long as you live. That knowledge did not drive him insane with hopelessness, instead it turned the entire thing into some sort of a hard journey. He had to keep going, one day at a time, one round of emulations per year, until either someone manages to kill him, or he dies in his sleep. That was life.

If there was anything that irked him, it was men he couldn't bend and eyes that refused to give up hope. Keshav hated the young man he was supposed to train for that season of emulations.

He stroked his split lip with a lazy thumb and shook his head, his eyes cold and hard. That was indeed a good punch, but he knew this was purely a show, this boy could do better. Growling a little as the frustration burned him, he punched the trainee in the gut, hard enough to knock him into the ground, to bite dust. Keshav stepped back, assuming his stance.

"Get up Boy, stop playing around will you?" His words sounded irksome, and his lips twitched as the young man looked up. Beads of sweat glittered on his forehead, and his jaw was set in a hard line. A stray drop of blood tickled down his nose as he rose to his feet once more. He was gritting his teeth, Kashav noted dully - good- now they might see some action.

But no, he had been thoroughly mistaken.

The young man blocked his next blow and then the next, choosing to go on defensive rather than attack him. It got Kashav to wonder, what powers were the lad hiding? Was he a wandering bhava to start with, or was this entire thing a ruse, some move in a bigger game?

The young man caught him unaware, using a footwork that was definitely not taught to any Bhava nomads, he made Kashav lose his balance; a blow just below the shoulder that could have cracked his bone and a punch to his side, he collapsed on the dust and the young man's elbow came to hold him down with the pressure he applied on Keshav's throat. For a moment; a fleeting flash of a second, the older man thought he saw a flash of emerald in his eyes, by the time he looked closely it was gone.

"Tired yet Master?" He spat the word as some form of an insult, his eyes boring into Keshav's. "Or shall we start again?" His accent was too polished for a Bhava, Keshav narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you?" He wondered aloud, eyes suspicious. The young man released him all too soon, stepping away, wiping his brow as if smacking himself. Keshav waited him to stake a few steps and kicked his shin, making him stumble to the ground with the unexpected blow. In an instant Keshav was on his feet, his arm twisting the young man's, holding him flat against the dusty ground of the training room and with his other hand pushed his face to the ground with his other hand. "Answer me!"

Nothing, he could feel the young man shake with fury, but no answers came. It seemed pain was not the way to break through to his secrets. Keshav sighed releasing him. He wiped his hands together to get them rid of the dust and regarded the lad with a look.

"Get your story together," he said in the end, his tone dismissive. "Bhava's don't use that kind of moves." The young man scowled at him, his lips twitching as he fought to keep his silence. Keshav patted his shoulder. "They use their hands, it's the Vajras that jab at pulse points. If I didn't know better I'd think.." shaking his head he made a move to leave.

"What would you think?" The young man questioned.

Keshav turned around, he was still standing where he had left him, under the moving shadows from the torch hanging in the wall behind him. He observed how pale he looked. Definitely not a Vajra, not a Bhava either. He clicked his tongue.

"I'd think you've been sent here to help that Vajra prince escape."

The youth returned his gaze with a cold one and folded his arms against his chest. Arrogance, oozed out of him; Keshav shook his head. This one would have a hard time in the arena.

"And what changed your mind?"

"The lord of Vajra's no fool, he should know that there is no escape." The old man muttered. "And no elf is gonna volunteer into death raw..." he let his words trail off. "Even if they wanted."
He walked to the pot of water in the corner and drank heavily from it. "No one fights for another here." He filled the tankard once more and offered it to the younger man, with a jerk of his head. "It simply doesn't work that way."

He took the offered water and emptied it over his head, letting the cold water run over his heated skin. The silver strokes of first light etched overhead and the older man observing his trainee saw something closer to an emotion flicker in his expression for the first time. He pressed his lips together, closing his eyes. As if sensing something beyond Keshav's ability of knowing.

"Perhaps it's gonna change this time." He said simply setting down the tankard with a thud and leaving Keshav to ponder over his words.

Stepping outside into the breezy dawn, Sanskar watched the sun rising, his emotions conflicting with each other. There was a certain familiarity in the winds, something that sat his heart at peace. At the same time he hated it, for he knew who made him feel that way. Running a hand through his tousled hair he mused for himself. When was the last time she listened to him, anyway?

**