Hey ya'll.
This is a chapter that I'm making into the first chapter, due to the fact that it sets up the story better. The previous chapters posted will fall as second and third k? Here it is
Windfall
Rule
“Mahvash, I wish to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you have affection for me?”
-
The Throne of Balra is no seat of comfort.
Though grand in its structure, despite its ornate carvings and matchless craftsmanship…
Mahvash still couldn’t put up with having to sit in it.
“The preparations for the Oath of Akhil are in motion, Devi.” One of the high court satraps announce.
“How many heirs will be present?”
“Fifteen.” Another satrap answers. A servant suddenly appears, emerging from the shadows of one of the colossal pillars in the court. He bows as he walks up the stairs to the throne and kneels. He holds up a small scroll in his hands. Mahvash’s cold eyes stare, she does not move.
“Devi, a letter from the Eminent.”
Her hand extends elegantly as she reaches for the parchment. Attached to the encircling silk thread is a crest.
Harun. He’s still alive…
Though her demeanor is often compared to that of stone, she is, at heart, a woman of action. For many turns she has searched endlessly throughout the breadth of her kingdom to find the one thing that would fulfill the last and only desire within her.
Conquest.
All this time, there has been nothing to quell her hunger. Her body does not yearn for the embrace of men, nor does her belly ache to carry child. She’s been empty inside, with nothing but a heart burning with anger and avidity.
As she deftly unravels the letter, her heart does not leap. It did once, in the early years. At a time when she was whole. A time when her heart had room for a lover. Now it yearned for nothing but power. Beyond the mountains that encompassed the sprawling valley in which the city of Vishal was nestled, other lands had yet to be explored. Before that could take place however, Mahvash needed to be in a position of power. It was back when Balra was within the rulership of her older brother Zaman, that she had begun to crave the Throne.
This was the first of a vicious cycle.
Dearest Mahvash,
I write to you now, from the Eastern Fringe. We have passed through many towns and villages, and despite the loss of some of my men, for the most part everyone has come through. At the edges of your kingdom, the people do not worship you. They pray towards the ruins of Yas-Kathali. These people do not recognize your power, only the Goddess’s.
Love was the motivation at first. Within the embrace of Harun’s arms Mahvash had promised to take him with her once she acquired the throne. But only on one condition. He would have to clear the way. Harun accomplished this task, and became bloodguilty of Zaman.
The rest of the Mu’Tasim still remains to be found. I have asked many seers in each settlement we have come upon, but to no avail. They only provide us with wards and bless our journey. Many of my men have become weary of traveling. I though, am determined to finish that which you have commissioned me.
Once queen however, Mahvash did not fulfill her promise. Instead, she gave Harun the title of Eminent Kshatriya, her head guardsman. Though disheartened that she had chosen to rule alone for the time being, Harun was determined to prove himself worthy of Ascension, and therefore guarded his lover with utmost zeal.
The Mu’Tasim, an apocryphal scroll of the Holy Books, was then found by Dhaval within the royal archives. This document had a detailed chart of divya-parakram relationships, with every then-known divya type divided between the dynamic and elemental categories. Towards the end it told of an immensely powerful being, The Binder, “a bridge to the Ages”. Its words had ended somewhat abruptly however, and such was the reason for Harun’s travels. Mahvash, under the advice of Dhaval, had ordered Harun to search throughout the Kingdom and attain the remaining scrolls of the apocrypha by any means.
We shall soon arrive in the city of Aurangezeb. Goddess-willing, the rest will be found there and I shall return to you. I hope my absence has not made your heart heavy. I still hold you within mine. My love has not faded with time, it has only become stronger. I wish to see your smiling face again, till then I await the end of this journey.
Your Eminent
-
“What kind of question is that? Can’t you tell?”
“Yes but…you’ve never said it. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m just a pawn…or just a casual pleasure to be swept back into the shadows once I’ve served my purpose…Do you really love me?”
-
Mahvash rolls up the letter and wraps the thread around it. She hands it back to the kneeling servant.
“Burn it.”
“Yes Devi.”
The servant quietly exits the court. Mahvash turns her attention back to the small group of satraps.
“Shall I name the Houses that will be present, Devi?”
“You may.” Mahvash says in an unreadable tone. One of the satraps opens up a scroll.
“The families are as follows: Lavanya, Chander, Mansoor, Firdaus…”
Finally, things were coming to a close. The rest of the Mu’Tasim would hopefully be found in Aurangezeb, and the second phase of Harun’s task could begin. But for now, plans needed to be set in motion here in Vishal.
-
“Harun, words cannot express what I feel. It is that simple.”
-
Aurangezeb was a grand city. It sprawled over a giant hill, its thick walls marking a grandiose perimeter. In its heart, was the main palace, surrounding it the broad towers and massive temples. Trickling from those enormous structures where the many districts and roads. Harun thought of the legends that said this city was built by powerful divya, every stone bonded together by the secrets of earth parakram. He looked once more at the ziggurat jutting up from the city’s center. Dumesh was there, and he likely knew of Harun’s coming. If the Sacred Remnants were still operating as actively as Harun and Mahvash had thought, word had traveled way ahead of Harun and his men, and Dumesh probably knew what they were looking for. One thing was for sure though, if the second Mu’Tasim scroll had traveled along with the news, then it was finally cornered, all that was left now was to obtain it.
“Father…” a voice says from behind.
Harun turns around.
“Will the Mu’Tasim be here?” Rohit asks quietly as he guides his horse next to Harun’s.
“It should be… Raja Dumesh may be hiding it somewhere. I will give you your assignment later.”
“Yes Father.”
The hundred-strong troop is stopped by guards at the gaping entrance to city. The guard captain walks forward with a proud gait, flaunting his authority.
“What business do you have here?” The guard asks, looking suspiciously back at Harun’s weary, armored men. Harun cooly reaches into a satchel on his horse’s saddle and pulls out a scroll, it unravels, revealing the royal crest and his title. The captain bows, suddenly ashamed of his demeanor.
“Eminent! I-I am dreadfully sorry, we did not expect your arrival-“ He stutters
“I’m sure,” Harun interrupts”, our purpose here does not concern you, the Raja is expecting us, take us to him.”
“Yes Eminent.” The captain yells back to the gate, and the other guards begin to walk ahead on the main road to the palace, clearing a way for the royal troop. As the procession make its way down the road, the commoners take notice. Boys stare in admiration, remarking on the men’s equipment and various weapons, while some girls look with dreamy eyes, especially at Rohit. He’s obviously the youngest of the group, probably only 17 turns old. He carries himself with utmost dignity, but there is a mystery about him. The afternoon sun seems to reveal streaks of lighter hues in his dark brown hair. His ruggedly handsome features and lion-like eyes lend him a subtle air of ferocity, despite his blank expression. He doesn’t return anyone’s gaze, but simply glares ahead at the looming ziggurat, Harun has no doubt that Rohit is taking note of the major features of the city, preparing himself for whatever task lie ahead.
At last they arrive in the palace courtyard. The leading guardsman quickly announces Harun’s presence and servants vanish into the palace halls. A few young boys approach and offer to guide the troop to the stables, and most of the men follow. Harun, Rohit and a few others stay behind.
“Father.” Rohit says quietly.
“Find the Mu’Tasim, retrieve it at any cost.” Harun’s words are barely louder than a whisper. Rohit nods, and immedeatly…
He vanishes.
-
The stables are still in a slight commotion when Rohit arrives. He quickly hides in one that’s vacant. Still hidden within the shadows, he moves to the edge of the small enclosure and looks out. His horse had just been led into a space at the far end. He needed a few more things before he begins his task. He watches the young boy as he pets the stallion, it snorts and jerks its head away. Dismayed, the boy saunters off. Rohit performs a small movement with his hand, and suddenly he seems to be nothing more than a gust of wind. A long streak of dust forms along the ground, and Rohit appears this time right alongside his steed. He retrieves a small bow and quiver, two daggers, a chakram, and a kukri short sword. He takes an arrow from the quiver and notches it. A warm breeze tousles his dark brown hair as he walks out to the end of the stable hallway into an atrium. The whisper of the trees and shrubbery is a curse and a blessing: it can provide sound cover for anyone. He will have to traverse through a maze of gardens and courtyards like this one if he wanted to get to wherever the Raja is unnoticed. It was safe to go the long way around, but he knows he doesn’t have that kind of time. Looking up he sees the myriad of terraces over looking the area. Using those and the high walkways could probably get him to the rooftops, where he could get a better veiw of things. He looks around, making sure no one is in sight. He takes the arrow from the string, puts it back into the quiver, and slings his bow over his shoulder. That isn’t needed for now, instead he unsheathes his daggers.
Noticing a vertical path between the trees along the wall, Rohit dashes forward. He becomes nothing but a blurred streak up the stone wall, then launches backwards, vaulting onto a terrace on the opposite side. Behind him a window screen blocks the entry into an empty chamber. Rohit debates entering into the palace, but decides to continue with his original plan. With incredible speed he sprints along the wall and jumps across onto an opposite terrace. In one smooth motion he then aerials to a lower landing, then hurdles onto another. This reminds him of his days evading hunters and warrior-priests in Kanapoor…he dispels his thoughts, there isn’t time for that. He tightens his grip on the daggers to regain his concentration. The breeze blows once more, as if goading him on. He steps up onto the terrace banister, looking up at the last few meters until the roof’s edge, he’d have to wall run this last stretch.
Easy enough.
-
The interior of the palace is exquisite. Feats of twisting, geometric artistry cover every inch of the palace grounds. Woven within these are a myriad of etched figures and words, retelling the passionate and tumultuous past of Aurangezeb and its rulers. Flowing curtains of golden silk frame massive windows over-looking the sprawling city and surrounding plains, colossal wooden screens depicting mythical animals and heroes block entry to various rooms and hallways. Sculptures of past Raja and loyal kshatriya are hewn into the walls. Harun and his men, however, do not gaze in admiration at the splendor of their surroundings, they only stare straight ahead.
Harun’s light brown eyes bore into the back of the servant before him, watching for movement that could denote danger. To the undiscerning eye, this place might seem to have a serenely majestic air, but Harun can feel the underlying tension with every step. The servant turns off the main hallway and stops in front of a large screen, on its surface an earth divya performs a fighting stance, sand and stone swirl around him. The screen splits apart as it opens to reveal a chamber. Inside, there are two large stone tables, abundantly graced with food. The surrounding ottomans are covered in deep-maroon silk and fringed with gold-dyed tassels. The young servant turns to the troop and prostrates, his forehead touching the ground.
“The Raja will arrive shortly.” He says softly. He exits and some men of the troop quickly move in on the food. Harun is about to stop them, but shrugs. If the Raja brought any harm to him and his men, it would arouse suspicion not only among the Houses here in Aurangezeb, but clear to Vishal also. The search for the Mu’Tasim was not public and only suspected within the higher circles, but Dumesh surely didn’t want to bring more attention to himself than there was. Still… After watching the others indulge in the succulent delicacies, Harun takes a grape and cautiously puts it in his mouth. He begins to chew and the grape’s pulp bursts forth with sweet flavor. Another chew, another explosion, another and another. As he picks another piece of food, the screen behind them opens. A small procession of servants enter and bow splitting off to stand at the edges of the chamber. At last, the Raja enters. He his clothed in an elegantly simple green diri, sandals adorning his feet. He wears no turban, as someone of his status usually might, only a lightly-jeweled circlet around his neck hints at his authority. His skin is a light brown, the hair upon his head is thinning but dark. A slightly wrinkled face bears a quaint smile, as if its always been that way. The hint of green in his brown eyes seems to add an air of joviality to him.
“Welcome, Eminent Harun.” He says with a bow and smile. His voice is suave and reassuring. Though he was getting up in years, his step is lithe and controlled as he makes his way to the end of one of the stone tables. Servants pull out his chair, he sits without giving them a glance. His eyes fix on Harun as he motions to the ottoman at his right.
“Please, sit, we have many things to discuss, do we not? Tell me why such a busy man has traveled all the way to this humble city.”
-
With the evening sun at his back, Rohit leaps and dashes onto palace and temple rooftops. His otherworldly speed enables him soar effortlessly over empty expanse from ledge to ledge. He stops for a moment, to take a look at his surroundings. Aurangezeb’s palace square could be a small town by itself with its many halls and temples. No one had seemed to notice him, but then again not a lot of people seemed to walk about within the main square for some reason. Perhaps someone had seen him and thought he was some kind of rakash, the plains people were a superstitious bunch. He’d now scouted out the square, but there’s no sign of a place with heightened security, as there should if the Raja were trying to hide something. The warm eastern wind blows, flowing past him and through the city, Rohit watches it make ripples on the all-embracing plains. He knows the lay of the land at least, so he begins to move in on the palace.
He looks to the palace courtyard and notices a small procession, making a signal with his hand, he vanishes. Reappearing at the edge of a rooftop, he leans in to get a closer look. There are three guards and a young man walking at a fast pace towards a temple of the far side of the courtyard. The young man appears to be holding something… He looks around cautiously and Rohit lies prone on the roof. The three guards stay outside the temple entrance as the young man walks in. Rohit assumes this must be some servant of the Raja, or maybe kin? He hurdles over more rooftops to get closer, unslinging his bow and drawing an arrow from the quiver. He notches it and in mid-vault, aims and lets it go. It hits a guard in the throat, and the other two begin to cry out in alarm, but not before two arrows find them also. Rohit’s blurred form appears next to the last guard before he falls, and as he sinks to his knees his face twists into a gaze of horror and amazement as Rohit fully materializes and stares him down with piercing golden eyes.
“Rakash…?!” The guards’ barely audible voice asks, as if wondering whether his eyes lay on something truly supernatural. Rohit walks cooly past him. The temple is dark, save for the huge opening in the ceiling that reveals the evening heavens and fading light of the sun. Below, in the center of the chamber, in a raised pit of sand, the looming statue of a man stands. At its base, the young man kneels. Though made of stone, the statue is permeated with an air of regality. Rohit hides within the shadows of the surrounding colonnade.
“Your furtive steps fall on infused ground, rakash. Show yourself so the priests can perform the proper ward.” The young man says calmly, still staring up at the statue. Rohit freezes for a moment, and his heart quickens as the boys’ head turns in his direction. He vanishes and appears on the other side of the temple, within the shadow of another pillar, after a moment the young man smiles. Rohit frowns, it’s no use hiding, the boy seemed to sense him somehow. He walks out into the open, his bow pulled back.
“I am no spirit.” He says.
“You move like one.” The young man replies, his green eyes stare into Rohit’s. His face holds a soft smile. He is clad in a green diri, his curly black hair shines a little with the dying light. Obviously of noble descent, Rohit assumes the young man is most likely kin to the Raja.
“Don’t waste my time with superstition.” Rohit says between clenched teeth. The other gives a small laugh.
“You’re right. There is nothing supernatural about this world. But can’t we all beileve? There is no harm in faith.”
“…That depends on what you’re faithful to.”
“True. To what are you faithful, rakash?”
“…Where is the Mu’Tasim?” Rohit shoots back.
“Most assassin’s and thieves cover their face. You are both but you don’t. Why?…What…is your name?” The prince inquires calmly. His expression holds no malice, only curiosity. He seems to have no fear at all. Rohit’s anger flares at his nonchalant demeanor.
“Where is it?!” He asks again, his voice bellicose. He pulls back his bow to the limit, at the same time the prince takes a small box out of the folds of his garment. He slams it on the ground in front of him.
“Answer me first! Who is asking?!” The prince’s face twists in equal anger, his green eyes afire with defiance.
The arrow takes flight.
-
Amidst soft music and the jolly conversation between the troop, the dialogue between Raja Dumesh and Harun is hidden from curious ears.
“I beileve you know what I seek.” Harun says in a low voice. Dumesh picks up a warm piece of flat bread and wipes it in curry, he puts it in his mouth and chews slowly, ruminating. He sighs once he’s finished and pauses to swallow, as he speaks his voice takes on a slightly venomous tone.
“What you seek is not yours to find.” His hazel eyes lock onto Harun’s. Suddenly his demeanor is no longer suave but exudes a restrained anger. His eyes, however look almost scared, as if Harun was about to do something that would put himself in danger.
“Is it here? In Aurangezeb?” Harun presses.
“Go back to Vishal, I beg you. The Mu’Tasim is not to be tampered with.” Dumesh’s fist clenches.
“You must give-“
“I hold no enmity towards you. I do not wish harm upon you or your men. The Apocrypha is hidden to protect Balra, this entire world.” Dumesh’s voice fluctuates between anger, warning and fear. Harun stares back at him, astounded. The world? What does he mean by this?!
“Explain…” Harun commands, his eyes bore into Dumesh’s as if trying to mentally pull the answers out of him, but the Raja shakes his head in negation.
“No. The answers you seek will only make you accountable. In this world, knowledge will not give you power, it will only expose evils. Please, do not ask further.”
Harun looks away trying to quell his anger. As he examines his men and the silent servants, his eyes fall upon the source of music. A young girl sits alone on an ottoman at the far side of the chamber. Her features are soft yet defined, her lips pursed in concentration as alluring brown eyes stare with elegant vacuity at the floor. A delicate hand moves up and down the slender neck of a govind, another clasps a thin bow. Her head moves slightly with each movement of the bow against the instruments three strings. The govind’s spirals of polished wood give off dull reflections of torchlight. Though the mood in the room is upbeat, the girl plays a song entirely devoid of the atmosphere, one, it would seem, of sorrow. The liquid melody wafts in and out of hearing due to conversation, but Harun feels each ethereal note nonetheless. The girl’s neck cranes downward as the song reaches a grief-laden crescendo, a lock of her dark hair falls forward as she plays the last heart-rending note.
With languor, she raises her head and meets Harun’s gaze.
-
The arrow hits a wall of sand. It falls harmlessly to the stone floor. Rohit’s eyes widen in amazement. He suddenly realizes what he’s dealing with now. A divya.
“I am Siraj.” The prince says coldly, his green eyes filled with anger. He sits cross-legged and places three fingers on the ground in front of him. As he begins to move his hands, the ground rumbles. Suddenly, he thrusts a hand forward and a trail of sand snakes towards Rohit. It rears up and comes crashing down. Rohit vanishes and materializes within the shadow of a pillar on the far side of the temple. Siraj moves his hands upward and the sand follows his motions, rising into the air. The prince furiously makes hand signs, he mumbles something and his eyes close. The cloud of sand falls to the floor, then rises and takes a crude, featureless humanoid form. A cloud of dust trails its movements.
Taking a deep breath, Rohit charges towards the earth aspect. He jumps into the air, closing the distance with ease. He lashes out with his foot, but the aspect blocks and strikes with its other arm. At the last moment, Rohit disappears in mid-air, then appears behind the aspect kicking into its midsection. His foot pierces through, but he’s unable to pull it out. The aspect attempts to strike Rohit’s head, but the assassin falls backward to dodge the blow, simultaneously kicking the aspect’s head. It explodes in dust and Siraj groans. Rohit catches his fall with his hands and, now free, vaults backwards into the air towards the prince. He lands and brandishes his kukri blade. Siraj seems defenseless, eyes closed and slumped over, but as Rohit gets closer a wall of sand quickly rises. He unleashes a smooth flurry of thrust and slices, attempting to wear it down, but it simply reforms.
One final slash and Rohit spins around to check his back, he sees the aspect slowly regenerating a faceless head. He comes to a realization. It shouldn’t have taken the aspect that long to regenerate. It probably would’ve regenerated faster if he hadn’t attacked Siraj. This meant that Rohit must’ve have been causing Siraj to multitask: keeping up his defensive wall, but also trying to rebuild the aspect at the same time, probably hoping to surprise Rohit with an attack from behind. The prince had also groaned when Rohit damaged the aspect, which meant the aspect was, in a sense, Siraj. Earth divya were famed for their skill with infusion, a technique that allows the user bind his life force to his element, thus tuning his mind to have even more control and precision when performing parakram. Evidently, Siraj had already infused a little of himself with the shrine grounds before Rohit entered, which explained his strange sense of where Rohit was. He must’ve performed infusion a second time, but deeper, to the point that he was able to create an aspect of himself out of sand.
Quite simply, whatever happened to the aspect: Siraj would feel.
A plan formed within Rohit’s mind as he rushes towards Siraj’s aspect. Body low to the ground, he unhooks his chakram and throws it. The aspects arm hardens and deflects the weapon back, Rohit dodges to the side and catches it. His momentum causes him to spin slightly, he becomes blurred and his form flows with unnatural speed towards the aspect. He materializes and attempts to slash it down the middle, but it catches his kukri between two fingers. Its other arm hardens into a rudimentary blade and it thrusts towards Rohit’s stomach, he twists his body to the side and spins, freeing blade and slashing the aspect across its bosom. Siraj cries out. Now behind, Rohit slashes upward with both weapons, sand bursts into the air and falls to the ground. Seeing this as a chance, Rohit hooks the chakram around the aspect’s head. His consciousness surely won’t he able to withstand this. Rohit thought. He pulls hard, severing the head from body. It immedeatly explodes in a cloud of dust. Siraj gives a bloodcurdling cry as serpentine streams of dust and sand gather and swirl around him. Rohit suddenly drops his weapons and he vanishes. When he reappears he is within the cloud and simultaneously strikes Siraj’s chest and abdomen. The sand blows back into the temple wall and falls into a pile. An instant later Siraj’s body does the same. Small specks of blood escape from his mouth as he flies through the air, a small box seems to loose itself from the folds of his diri and fall to the floor with a clatter that synchronizes with the settling of his body on the pile of sand. His haunting green eyes stare at nothing.
“Their age…must not…come….” Siraj says softly. His eyes look up at Rohit, the ground rumbles, and they close.
Rohit picks up the small box enclosing the Mu’Tasim. After retrieving his weapons he looks one last time at the Raja’s son, and walks out into the Palace square. The ivory eyes of the moon gazes down upon him, stars pierce holes in the dark veil of the night sky.
All is silent except, from afar, the haunting crescendo of a govind’s song.
-
Sooooooooo?? *sighs*, my fight scenes are too "grocery-listy" I think. I want the reader to see what is exactly happening but I dunno...the way they are written makes them seem plain...any suggestions on putting detail and flourish in action scenes while still portaying exactly what you want the reader to see??
[LXM]