Rising Like a Storm Read online

  Instead, they got me.

  “That was uncalled for, Roda,” Esther says now. “Gul was here when we needed her. Without her, we wouldn’t have been able to hold off the bounty hunters.”

  “Well, it’s because of her that we’re in such bad shape,” Roda points out. “Because she sits like a straw dummy during our practice sessions, refusing to do magic.”

  “Roda!” Sami exclaims. “How could you—”

  “That’s enough,” Subodh cuts in. “Savak-putri Gulnaz and Xerxes-putra Cavas, I’m glad to see you both here now—together. As you should be if we are to have any hope of winning the forthcoming war.”

  White fog rises in the air overhead; Indu’s forlorn voice singing from within:

  The sky has fallen, a star will rise

  Ambar changed by a king’s demise

  A girl with a mark, a boy with her soul

  Their fates intertwined, two halves of a whole

  Usurpers have come, usurpers will go

  The true king waits for justice to flow.

  It’s the new prophecy—the one the living specters began reciting several weeks ago, hinting that Amar was still alive. I do my best to ignore the couplet that has bothered me since the time I first heard the prophecy:

  A girl with a mark, a boy with her soul

  Their fates intertwined, two halves of a whole.

  Subodh, who I’m sure understands what the lines mean, has refused to explain them to me, though I’ve asked him several times.

  “They don’t matter unless you use your powers to train the Legion, Star Warrior,” he always says, his great face shuttered of expression.

  Cavas once admitted that the Pashu king didn’t tell him anything about the prophecy, either. “Subodh knew you would come to me,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “He said that I needed to persuade you to train with magic first. That’s the only way either of us will get answers.”

  I note the frown on Cavas’s face now as he stares up at the foggy specter.

  Subodh is watching Indu as well. “Good timing,” he says, and I wonder if he asked the specter to sing that particular prophecy now. Not only can Subodh whisper to animals, but as a Pashu, he can also do other magic that most humans cannot—which includes seeing living specters.

  I study him carefully—his thick brown mane sticking out in every direction, the long scar marring his face, from the corner of one great yellow eye, across the bridge of his flat nose, disappearing into the fur sprouting from his right jaw. Many in Ambar call Subodh a lion simply by looking at his face and ignoring the rest of him. But Subodh is a rajsingha—part lion and part human—and for many years, he ruled the Pashu kingdom of Aman in the northeast of the continent. Subodh alternates between walking on all fours and walking the way humans do—on his hind paws—though I suspect he finds the latter more boring. His reptilian tail—gifted by the gods after he lost his real one in an ancient war—swishes behind him, green scales tipped with sharp horns. I’m not sure how old Subodh is, but age has done nothing to affect his strength or his magic, the glow of which now outlines his form.

  “As you know, Rani Sarayu has been tracking the movements of the new queen of Ambar with her birds,” Subodh says, his voice, as always, sounding to me like thunder before a storm.

  I frown, puzzled by the sudden shift in topic. Sarayu is a simurgh—part human, part eagle, part peacock—and the current queen of the Pashu, her information network comprising every single bird on the continent. She has also supplied Tavan with food over the past twenty years. I glance at the darkened reservoir, half expecting Queen Sarayu to rise from it the way I once saw, her magnificent wings nearly spanning the water from end to end.

  “Earlier today, we received a letter from the new rani, along with our usual food supply.” Subodh holds up a scroll, its opened wax seal embossed with Shayla’s new emblem. An atashban—the deadly magical crossbow used by the Sky Warriors—crossed over with a trident. I stare at the scroll, glowing white at the edges with magic.

  “Shayla sent you this?” I ask.

  “She did. Knew exactly which bird to pick, too,” Subodh says calmly. “As of last week, Rani Shayla closed the last of the labor camps that Lohar established and released their prisoners. She has offered to do the same for Tavan—provided that we give up the fugitive Star Warrior and her two companions.”

  “For goddess’s sake!” Esther scoffs. “She had to close the labor camps if she had any hope of gaining the public’s favor. Raja Lohar is dead, and Gul is widely regarded as his murderer. There’s no point in keeping the labor camps open, is there?”

  “Has…” The question sticks in my throat. I’m still remembering the way Shayla tried to drain my magic that day, her spell like a hundred blades skewering my insides. I release a breath. “Has she gained the public’s favor?”

  “She did gain favor—when she announced her plans for the labor camps three months ago,” Subodh says. “But soon after, she brought in new tariffs and land tithes across the kingdom. Ambar’s coffers were depleted thanks to two wars and Lohar’s obsession with finding the Star Warrior. Rani Shayla has worsened matters by announcing higher payouts to the Sky Warriors and by giving them better living accommodations in the city. Realistically, she knows she doesn’t have a choice there, either. To draw power to herself, she needs to keep her forces loyal.

  “The people of Ambar will have to make up for the deficit through the tithes, and for the first time in years, they have begun protesting them. When she was a Sky Warrior, people despised Shayla for her cruelty. As queen, many don’t trust her claim to the throne. They complained about her in secret before. Now they do so more and more openly. Last week, someone painted Maro Kabzedar Rani in blood across the Ministry of Truth’s doors.”

  Die Usurper Queen. Though I’ve thought the same thing many times myself, a shock goes through me upon hearing the news.

  “I didn’t know people were so angry,” I say. “I thought she’d have engineered a better claim to the throne by now, having some royal blood in her.”

  According to Shayla, Lohar was the real usurper, the one who took the throne by killing Queen Megha, the monarch before him. Shayla claimed to be Megha’s illegitimate daughter, kept away from her mother and the throne by a selfish father.

  “Royal blood doesn’t always translate into likability,” Kali says, shrugging. “People would still prefer Raja Amar on the throne. If we can find him.”

  I frown, mulling over the scroll’s contents. “I could give myself up—” I begin.

  “No!” Cavas, Subodh, Esther, and Kali interrupt as one.

  “But—”

  “If you’re giving yourself up, then so am I,” Cavas says in a hard voice. “The bounty is on both of our heads, remember?”

  “She is not going to let any of us go free, Gul,” Esther says before I can respond. “Especially not Raja Subodh. Also, the Legion isn’t so cowardly that we won’t fight for you.”

  No, the Legion does not lack courage. But tonight, from what little I saw, it’s clear that the women of Tavan aren’t ready to face bounty hunters, let alone Sky Warriors in magical combat.

  “Which brings me to you and Cavas,” Subodh says. “If you join powers, we will be capable of taking on the Sky Warriors as well.”

  Cavas’s frown deepens into a scowl. I wonder if he’s remembering the time I tapped into his magic in Chand Mahal, turning us both invisible; or when he held my magic back inside the king’s palace, preventing me from killing Amar in a fit of rage.

  My jaw grows taut. Each time Cavas and I have joined powers, we have done so out of desperation. And almost every time afterward, we have fought. Cavas was never really comfortable with his powers, and I always despised how easily he could curb mine.

  Their fates intertwined, two halves of a whole.

  “This has something to do with the new prophecy,” I state, attempting to prod Subodh again. “I don’t know why you won’t tell me about it.”

  “Are
you ready to use magic while training with the Legion?” the Pashu king asks.

  “Why does that matter?” I ask, my voice rising. “I just burned Cavas; I could have killed him! Do you really trust me not to kill someone else?”

  The question gives everyone pause. Roda stares at me, saying nothing, while Esther and the other women from the Legion evade my gaze. Even Subodh and Kali are silent. Then:

  “You wouldn’t have killed me,” Cavas says quietly. “You have good aim. I don’t know why you doubt yourself so much.”

  Heat suffuses my face. I frown, irritated by how quickly my body reacts to his words—especially to any hint of praise.

  “Interesting,” Subodh says. “Neither of you has spoken to the other this past month, yet the first person Cavas tried to protect tonight was you, and the first person you tried to save was Cavas. You are terrified of hurting Cavas—and he implicitly trusts you not to hurt him. Over and over, despite your hurdles, you are drawn together, only cementing what the prophecy has foretold.”

  This time, both Cavas and I direct scowls at Subodh.

  “Raja Subodh.” It’s Esther who speaks, moonlight catching the silver stars tattooed across her forehead. “Prophecies can be vague and open to multiple interpretations. I, too, am puzzled over this one. Perhaps you should tell Gul and Cavas more about what it really means. It might help them make a more informed decision about whether or not they wish to join powers.”

  Something flickers in Subodh’s great yellow eyes: Sadness? Resignation? Despair? Perhaps a mix of the three.

  “In the prophecy, which the sky goddess revealed to the living specters, she calls you and Cavas two halves of a whole,” Subodh says finally. “Now, in most interpretations, this would indicate a romantic connection. In your case and Cavas’s, it is different. Your connection is more than one of mates—it is one of complements. You haven’t heard of the term, have you?”

  “No,” I say. I try to recall every scroll I’ve read, every bit of education I received before being forced to drop out of school at age nine. Cavas, Kali, and Esther look equally befuddled.

  “The term first appeared centuries ago,” Subodh says. “It was when the gods and the great animal spirits walked this earth. No humans and few Pashu existed. During this time, two young goddesses were drawn to each other—the first with glowing skin as dark as midnight, the second whose complexion resembled a desert at moonrise. First as friends and then as lovers, they shared their hearts and bodies and magic for many years; so attuned were they to each other that many called them two halves of a whole.

  “Yet not all was perfect in their relationship. The second goddess enjoyed flirtation and was popular among the other gods. She and the first goddess often fought over this. One day, after a stormy tiff, the two lovers broke off their relationship, and the second goddess rashly agreed to bind with someone else. The second goddess’s suitor—the god of thunder—had a temper as fiery as the storms he created. He knew that his mate-to-be did not really love him, and in a fit of rage, he killed the first goddess. In despair, the second goddess poured every bit of her magic into her lost lover’s body. But it was too late. Neel could not be revived in her original form.”

  “Wait—Neel?” I interrupt. “Do you mean the moon goddess, Neel?”

  “The very same,” Subodh says. “Though I thought you may have recognized this story sooner.”

  “I did recognize it but got confused,” Cavas admits. “Legend always says that Neel’s skin was blue and Sunheri’s was golden—exactly the color of the two moons.”

  The Pashu king makes a purring sound in his throat, one that I’ve come to associate with skepticism or dismissal.

  “Legends shape themselves to suit a storyteller’s convenience,” Subodh tells us. “Casual embellishment aside, most other facts of this story hold true. The first goddess was Neel, the second goddess, Sunheri.”

  As he speaks, everyone looks up at the yellow moon—lonely and wan in the night sky without her glowing blue companion.

  “Sunheri couldn’t revive Neel as a deity. But her magic did work—somewhat. Shortly after Neel died, a moon appeared in the night sky, blue like the glow emitted by the young goddess’s skin when she was alive. You all know the rest of the story, I presume.”

  Everyone nods. The sky goddess took pity on Sunheri, who gave up her life as a goddess to turn into a moon herself, appearing alone each night, waxing and waning, turning full and swarna-bright only once during the night of the moon festival—the one night when Neel appears in the sky.

  “Complements are capable of more than love,” Subodh continues. “They can pour their own untapped magic into each other, amplifying each other’s powers to do things they normally couldn’t accomplish alone.”

  Like turning invisible. The fine hairs at the back of my neck rise. “So Cavas and I … we’re like living amplifiers for each other?”

  “Not exactly. Amplifiers are substances that can be used by any magus to enhance their powers—be it seaglass, mammoth tusk, sangemarmar, or firestone. These are used while forging magical weapons. There are other, more dangerous options—illicit enhancers that can be consumed directly and cause hallucinations. Complements, however, are not weapons or objects to be wielded at will. A complement is, essentially, your other half. You need to have an emotional connection to join powers. Your complement can also diffuse your powers—which can lead to problems if you don’t trust them.”

  “Why Gul? Why me?” Cavas interrupts. “What makes us so special? Surely other people out there could be living amplifiers to each other. Others who could act as replacements for either one of us.”

  Replacements? My cheeks grow hot. What in Svapnalok does Cavas mean? Does he want us to be with other people?

  “Complements, not amplifiers, Xerxes-putra Cavas,” the Pashu king chides. “You both are more than mere objects. Though your question is valid. Why Gul? Why you? Why the both of you together? Could you find other complements if you left each other? Perhaps. I cannot say. Finding a replacement might be akin to finding a single red rose in a field of pink ones. I haven’t read about or heard of anything resembling complements in Svapnalok since Sunheri and Neel. Indeed, I thought the very idea might have been confined to the gods until I found out about you two turning invisible at Ambar Fort.”

  “The sky goddess made the prophecy about Gul being the Star Warrior,” Kali says after a pause. “Does she have something to do with this as well?”

  “She doesn’t,” I answer almost immediately. “She told me she didn’t.”

  In the first proper vision I had of the sky goddess at Ambar Fort, she promised that she didn’t send Cavas my way—that I found him on my own.

  “Then I can only assume there is other magic at work here,” Subodh says, lifting his great head to stare at the moon again. “The gods don’t often meddle with human affairs, but Ambar is in danger of being fragmented in ways that are worse than anyone could have imagined. Perhaps the magic that links Cavas and Gul as complements was initiated by another god. Balance must be restored. Wherever injustice goes, justice must follow.”

  The last line, spoken nearly word for word by the sky goddess in my vision, sends chills down my spine.

  “You’re better off handing me in to Shayla,” I tell them after a pause. “No, listen to me—she may have put a bounty on both Cavas and me, but I’m the one Shayla really wants. You don’t need to keep me safe.”

  “Do you really trust Rani Shayla to keep her word?” Subodh asks pointedly.

  I open my mouth and then shut it. I remember the young serving girl, her pleas ringing in King Lohar’s chambers before Shayla’s dagger slit her neck.

  “You’re asking me to lead a rebellion,” I say with a sigh. “But no rebellion is successful with only fifty warriors. Maybe some people are unhappy in Ambar, but that doesn’t mean much. People will complain about the tithes first, but eventually they’ll pay. They’ll give up their coin the way they gave up their marked girls
to Raja Lohar.”

  “You underestimate the wrath of the Ambari citizens, Savak-putri Gulnaz,” Subodh says. “Over these past three months, more and more have been rising to speak out against the taxes. Including the zamindars.”

  “The zamindars are only bothered because their treasuries are affected,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “I didn’t say their motives were altruistic. But zamindars rising up against Rani Shayla does work in our favor.”

  True. Ambar’s wealthy landowners are certainly a powerful force. But then—

  “Shayla will probably brand them traitors and execute them,” I say in a dull voice.

  “She has done that,” Subodh admits. “The last zamindar who complained was executed by the Sky Warriors without a trial. He was from a village called Dukal. Zamindar Moolchand, I think his name was.”

  “She had Zamindar Moolchand killed?” I had never liked Dukal’s lech of a landowner, but I didn’t expect him to die like this. “But he was so careful. He never got on the wrong side of the law if he could help it.”

  “It doesn’t take much to get on the kabzedar rani’s wrong side. She’ll make a mistake at some point. And we need to be prepared for that.”

  When Subodh says we, I know he means me. I am the one who needs preparation. Not a Pashu king who has fought in wars since before I was born. Not Kali, who escaped from a labor camp and was an adjutant at the Sisterhood. Certainly not Esther, who has been training women in combat for the past twenty years. Even Cavas has shown more inclination to fight this war than I have.

  What if I fail again? Or worse—what if I succeed and leave Ambar in a worse state than before?

  You must be a leader when all hope is lost. The sky goddess’s words, spoken in a dream, sting like a newly sharpened blade.

  “I am not going to force you to fight,” Subodh tells me. “If you wish, you and Cavas can leave with Rani Sarayu for Aman. From there, you both can sail away to the lands that lie west of the continent. You would be free.”