Empire of Bones Read online

  But despite the gulf between them, she felt closer to Sirru than to anyone except Rakh. And that, she thought now, was an unwise way to feel. She wondered, not entirely irrelevantly, whether Amir Anand might have British blood.

  She wandered slowly out of the compound and onto the hillside. The dawn light above the rim of the mountains was as cold and clear as water. An owl sailed down the valley on great silent wings, heading into the shadows after hunting, and the air smelled fresh and scented with herbs. Jaya sat down on a stone and knotted her hands in her lap, and for the first time in many years she prayed, not to Durga of vengeance, but to Sarasvati: goddess of knowledge, and understanding, and good judgment. Qualities which, Jaya felt, she sadly lacked.

  13.

  Khokandra Palace

  “It is a good thing that I am a light sleeper,” Naran Tokai said, icily. He gazed down at Ir Yth as she crouched over the prone form of Amir Anand. “Although the racket that has been going on in here would wake the dead. I should like an explanation.”

  I owe you nothing. I need give no account of myself to you.

  “Indeed? I beg to disagree. I am quite well aware, madam, that you have lied to me from the moment we first met. I have played along because I hoped for some personal advantage to come from all this. But regrettably, I am by no means now sure that this will be forthcoming.”

  He took a step forward. The cane informed him that Ir Yth was attempting pheromonal interference. Tokai smiled.

  “I’m afraid that won’t work with me. I’m not like poor Anand, you know, governed by my hormones; in fact, I have very few left. So you may very well be shouting commands, but I fear I am deaf. Now. I require an explanation.” He took another step, making sure that he was well out of Ir Yth’s reach.

  Get away from me.

  “We’re not a very well-matched fighting pair, are we? An old man, and a—something.” He stroked a finger down the pommel of the cane, and a razor-edged ridge glided out. “On the other hand, I’m armed, and I don’t think you are. At least not with weapons that will harm me. Wake him up.”

  I cannot.

  “Wake him.” The pointed tip of the cane hovered in the direction of Ir Yth’s midriff. Muttering to herself, the raksasa looked at Anand. Some kind of interference was taking place, revealed by the distorted messages that were reaching Tokai through the cane. Anand stirred and groaned.

  “Anand? Get up, please.”

  The butcher-prince crawled to the bed and hauled himself upright, staring fixedly away from the ruined corpse of Kharishma Kharim.

  “Why did you kill her, Anand? A lover’s quarrel, or something more serious?”

  In a hoarse, strained voice that sounded nothing like his usual cultured tones, Anand explained, “We’re linked. To the other alien. It told Kharishma that Ir Yth plans to destroy humanity. Kharishma believed it.”

  “I see. Well. Destruction of the world’s population. Ambitious, but I’d like to know why—” Tokai began to say, but something suddenly snapped deep within the raksasa’s golden gaze. He could feel panic boiling off her, even without the aid of the cane. Ir Yth rushed at him, crouching low like an insect, with a curious scuttling motion. Anand leaped for the gun.

  “No! Don’t shoot her!” Tokai cried. He dodged away, but the raksasa’s tongue flickered out, lancing across his forearm and leaving a bloody trail in its wake. Cursing, Tokai, with a neat and economical motion of the cane, whirled around and spiked the razor point through Ir Yth’s throat. The raksasa crumpled to the floor without a sound. There was suprisingly little blood, though Tokai noticed absently that Ir Yth’s throat seemed to be trying to seal itself. He held the cane at the ready, but the fluttering flesh subsided and the raksasa lay as still and stiff as a dried spider.

  “Well, Amir,” Tokai said, in a voice that was not as steady as he would have liked. “It’s entirely possible that we’ve just saved the world. Perhaps you and I are destined to be heroes after all.”

  But Anand was kneeling beside Kharishma’s body, his face stricken. “And perhaps not.”

  Tokai found it hard to grieve for a woman whom he barely knew and in any case disliked, but the exigencies of face impelled him to honor Anand’s mourning. Anand wanted to bury Kharishma in the rose garden, but Tokai wouldn’t let him. Kharishma’s body, Anand was told, must be taken to the lab, along with the desiccated corpse of Ir Yth, for tests. This unleashed an outburst of cold fury from Anand, which Tokai placidly withstood, dwelling all the while on how best to get rid of Anand when the time came. At last, Tokai grew tired of the tirade and pointed out the realities of Anand’s position, or lack of it, yet again.

  “Might I remind you that you have nothing? Your ancestral lands are now mine. You are the last of your line. I have sufficient influence with the authorities to have you put away for life or simply killed, and I do not think there are many who would mourn your passing. You will do, Anand, precisely as I say, or face the consequences.”

  “You forget,” Anand said, through gritted teeth, “I am your one last game piece. I know where the second alien is, and Jaya with him. Without me, it is you who have nothing.”

  They stared at each other, locked in stalemate; then Anand spun on his heel in disgust and left the room. Later, he returned, to deliver a strained, white-lipped apology that was mirrored by Tokai’s own. They needed each other, it seemed, although neither liked the fact.

  Prudently, during Anand’s brief absence the old man had had Kharishma’s ruined body removed and sent to the lab, forcing Anand to compromise with a ceremony in the garden. Tokai declined to attend, and so the only mourner was Anand himself. Tokai watched him as he knelt, head bowed, among the falling petals of the roses, drifting down on the evening wind. He watched for a moment, feeling nothing, and then turned away and reached for the phone, to contact the lab in Varanasi.

  It seemed that the results of the raksasa’s autopsy had already proved exciting, and promised to be profitable. Ir Yth was a walking factory of disease; the complex ridges of her torso were a honeycomb of hived cells, each containing neat layers of viruses. Tokai’s researchers did not yet know what any of these might be capable of; they were proceeding, naturally, with the utmost caution. Tokai remained behind only to keep an eye on Anand. If matters had progressed ideally, he’d have had the butcher-prince in cold storage, too, but he needed Anand in order to track down the other alien. Having lost Ir Yth; and fully aware of how useful her death might prove, he was eager to acquire his second game piece. But as soon as the results were fully analyzed, Tokai thought, he would see if he could gain access to this curious and alien network himself, and remove the need for Anand.

  14.

  Yamunotri, Himalaya

  Jaya lifted the field glasses from her eyes and squinted into the glare. Amir Anand’s convoy was not yet visible, but she knew it was coming. Sirru had taught her how to filter the mass of the network, concentrating only on certain minds. Ir Yth was dead. When she learned this, Jaya felt herself grow weak with relief, and she lost no time in telling the others. The knowledge warmed her, but she couldn’t help remembering that Ir Yth was only one of many. There were probably millions of khaithoi, and what if all of them were the enemy?

  She kept getting fractured glimpses through Anand’s eyes: the mountains at dusk, enveloped in mist; a hawk rising high over the pass. Something of Anand’s helpless rage against a world that he felt had betrayed him was also communicated down the network, and for the first time Jaya began to feel that she understood him. A family that had sided with the British whose blood they shared, a legacy of separation from the people whom the Anands governed, and then the loss of fortune and place had all contributed to make the butcher-prince what he was today.

  But Jaya did not want to understand Anand. He really did believe that caste made him superior to anyone who wasn’t Brahmin or Westerner, and it was the unquestioning racist arrogance of that belief which made her so angry. And yet she couldn’t help feeling a reluctant pity, t
hat he was just as much a victim of the system which produced him as was she herself. And yet, and yet…I decided long ago that I was tired of being a victim. How about you, Amir? She tried to send the question to him, but he wasn’t listening, and she doubted it would have had any effect on him anyway.

  They had left the fortress at Yamunotri behind. Rajira and the child were deep in coma and could not be moved, so Jaya had returned to her original plan. Years ago, she remembered standing on the slopes of these very hills and watching a plover lure a hawk away from her nest, flopping across the scrub with a trailing wing. Once the plover was sure that the hawk had been led from the nest and confused, she had taken off like a rocket into the trees where the predator could not follow. Jaya and Sirru had become plovers, heading into the heights to draw Anand away. Jaya planned to take Sirru into the glacial fastness beyond the lake of Saptarishi Kund, and it would not matter if Anand knew where they had gone. If he followed, he would be as easy to pick off as a fledgling in the nest.

  The sun hovered low, for it was almost evening now and there were thunderheads over the peaks, tinged orange with the light of the sun. There was the smell of rain on the wind and a cloud shadow sailed across the slopes, darkening Jaya’s sight. She wondered what was happening back at the fort. The last glimpse she’d had was of Rakh waiting at the foot of the fortress, holding two of the automatic MK16 rifles, as she and Sirru were leaving.

  “One for you and one for him,” Rakh had said gruffly.

  For some reason, Jaya had expected the alien to protest, but he’d looked at the rifle thoughtfully for a moment, then slung it over his shoulder.

  “Don’t do anything with that unless I tell you to,” Jaya had said, hastily.

  Sirru’s gaze had been bland. “Naturally not.”

  Rakh had reached out and clasped Jaya’s hands. “Commander?” She’d stared at him, numbly. “I believe that my brother is watching over us both. He will show you the paths. If we do not see one another again—well. I wish you luck.”

  “God go with you, Rakh,” Jaya had whispered. “Bhagwan tumhara raksha karey.”

  He’d smiled. “Ayushmaanbhav, Commander.”

  Live long. “I’ll try.” It had sounded too much like a last farewell. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to smile in return, had instead turned abruptly and headed up the path, Sirru by her side. She’d never looked back.

  She carried no supplies with her, only the gun and a small bladder of blood from a goat slain the day before, a sacrifice to Durga. She hoped the goddess was listening. Now, as they made their way into the mountains, Jaya shouldered the gun. It felt as though she had regained a lost limb, as if she had been snatched back in time into the body and mind of the person she used to be. It was hard going, but she was used to this terrain, and Kamal had taught her how to use it to her advantage. As they followed the goat tracks up into the high rocks, she turned to Sirru and said brusquely, “All right so far?”

  “All right.”

  He seemed to have no problem keeping up with her. She glanced down as they climbed, and saw his clawed, jointed toes curling over the edge of the rocks. There was a smear of blood along the side of one foot, and she fought back pity. When they reached the crest of the ridge that ran like a blade above the valley, she stopped and looked back. An outcrop hid the convoy from view, but she could see the round tower of the fortress, no larger than a pebble against the vastness of the mountains.

  “Come on,” Sirru said encouragingly. “It is not very much longer.”

  She squinted up at him. “How do you know? Are you reading my mind?”

  He smiled. “No. I have been here before.”

  Jaya stared at him. “You’ve—? When?”

  “I walked, like this. On the day when you could not find me.”

  “Why?”

  He was gazing toward the lake. “I had a task to do. We should continue.”

  Ignoring her questions, he led her, slipping and sliding, down the slope to where a narrow stream bisected the thin valley. They followed the watercourse, running fast and cold down from the glacial lake, and after what seemed like an eternity of scrambling over the sharp and ancient rocks, they reached the lip of the valley. The lake stretched below, glittering in the falling sunlight. Sirru gazed at it pensively.

  “There?” he asked, and Jaya could tell from the tone of his voice that he was hoping the answer would be no. She smiled.

  “Not quite. You didn’t get this far, then? We’re going round, not over.”

  She took him down the path that an ancient glacier itself had cut, trying to remember the exact route down to the lake. After an hour, she estimated, they would cut through the cliff to where the lake rested like a dark eye in the cradle of the mountains. She had not been back here since their last flight down from the heights, after they had sent Kamal to his rest beneath the cold waters of the lake. Reborn, Jaya wondered, or resting with the dead? She didn’t know what she believed anymore, and perhaps she never had.

  “Jaya? What’s wrong?” The alien paused and reached out, touching her arm. She must radiate sadness, she thought, and in her reflection Jaya indeed spread a sense of loss over the desolate landscape. She said, “My husband is buried here.”

  “Not long ago, I think.”

  “No, not long. Three years. It seems like forever.” She stared at Sirru in the gathering darkness, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He took her hand in his long fingers and began once more to walk, up toward the lake and the dead.

  15.

  Yamunotri, Himalaya

  Anand crouched panting on the floor in the shadows as his men continued the search. The sickness, if that was what it was, raged through him. He felt as though he had been splintered into a myriad of sharp shards and scattered across the length and breadth of the country. He saw out of many eyes at the same time, and he shook his head again and again, trying to focus on the two most important voices: those of Nihalani and the alien, like two magnets drawing him to the north. He knew where they had gone—up into the glaciers that swept down from the southern wall of Himalaya. They were hoping that he would not or could not follow them, but Anand had gone too far to draw back now. It wasn’t Tokai’s threats and insidious promises that spurred him on—it was honor. Now that Kharishma was gone, honor, An and felt, was all he really had left.

  He no longer believed that Tokai had any intention of restoring the slightest measure of his family’s lost fortune, and he had been vain and a fool ever to think it. When Tokai no longer had a use for him, Anand knew, he would be killed. The prospect did not seem to matter anymore. It seemed to him that he could still hear Kharishma’s voice echoing in his head, as though she hadn’t really gone all that far. But nothing mattered now more than Bharat. Kharishma had helped him to see that; her sacrifice was part of his own. Ir Yth was dead, but the other one remained, and Anand knew that the alien must be killed. He could hear it now, spreading its lies. Perhaps more like it would come, but change had to be stopped, just as it had been before when he’d fought so hard against those who threatened the caste system. The world had to be preserved. Honor demanded it.

  The fortress was filled with Nihalani’s presence. He could sense her in every corner. Something brushed his face and he sprang to his feet, but it was nothing more than a cobweb, disturbed from the rafters by gunfire. He felt as though her hand had reached out and, mockingly, touched his cheek. Witchcraft… He could feel it, enchantment pounding through his head like a storm on the point of breaking. Nihalani’s hated voice reverberated in his mind. He stumbled across to the window and looked down at the slope of the hillside. Halfway down lay the body of Satyajit Rakh, sprawled in death. Beyond, he could see the little square of the ATV in which Naran Tokai patiently waited for results, well away from danger.

  There was a shout from high in the fortress. Anand made for the stairs and found himself on a small landing in the fortress roof. His second-in-command stepped out, covered in dust and dirt.
>
  “There’s someone in there. A woman. I think she’s dead.”

  Anand brushed past him. The woman was lying on a pallet of straw. Her face was pale as wax and she didn’t seem to be breathing. Then he detected a faint pulse in her jaw. He slapped her across the face, but she didn’t respond. The soldier shone a torch into her eyes and then, to his astonishment, Amir recognized her. It was Rajira Jahan. With Kharishma dead, the memory of that visit made him grow hot with shame. Rajira’s eyes snapped open, and suddenly he was staring at his own startled face. It was the same countenance he saw in the mirror every day—the winged brows and pale eyes—but the expression on his face was not one that he recognized. It was the face of a lost child. Rajira spoke, though her lips did not move. There were other beings somehow present, like points of light across the darkness of an inner plain, but Anand’s attention was drawn by one in particular: a lodestone of the north. He was seeing through Sirru’s eyes, gazing out at a familiar landscape past Nihalani’s shoulder. Nihalani and the alien were at the lake.

  16.

  Yamunotri, Himalaya

  Jaya scrambled down a slope of shale toward the shore. Sirru had already reached the bottom of the slope and now stood gazing out across the water. The light was almost gone now, and only a last ray of sun touched the peaks of the mountains, creating a line of rose, as though the snow had caught fire. A cold breath of wind was crossing the lake and the water ruffled against it, lapping along the stones. Jaya stumbled to a halt beside the alien. Somewhere behind them, in this wilderness of stone and ice, Anand was stalking them.

  “It’s cold,” Sirru said.