Page 65 of The Burning Mountain
Surasen looked up. “Well, that’s new. Haven’t heard that excuse before.”
“They’ll probably have the same reasons as everyone else. Too tired, profits are getting slimmer, they miss their families,” Vali said, lifting the leather-skin flap strung across the entrance to their cramped hideaway and disappeared inside.
Surasen went back to what he was doing before. Stacking the rounded pebbles on top of each other. He had a good towergoing and would probably break his previous record, if the wind cooperated. It was an extremely useless task, but the round-edged pebbles, and the fickle desert wind made it challenging, demanding his concentration. Alas, not enough tonotdwell on the desertions.
They were happening too often these days. Their numbers had whittled down to almost half of when they had started. They lost some lives—even if the skirmish was a small one by Rajgarh’s standards—they were still up against the most powerful kingdom of Saptavarsha, so he had calculated there would be losses.
Surasen mourned every one of his people, even those who abandoned their cause. It had been a few years since he had rallied the nomadic tribes in those farthest reaches of the desert to go against Rajgarh.
All they had wanted was a land they could call their own.
They first tried appealing to King Bheesmala and when that went nowhere, Surasen gathered his people and laid siege to the roads that crisscrossed the northern kingdoms. Trade depended heavily on these roads and Surasen’s band of men looted the merchants, pocketing any valuables to buy rations for themselves, but their main goal was to attract the notice of the two countries who seemed to have forgotten their existence.
Then Prince Veer got called away. Surasen still couldn’t find the reason behind that despite his best efforts. But he thought they could, finally, maybe, have a chance.
It wasn’t a great existence, but at least they “earned” enough to send some back home.
But things were changing. Surasen heard rumors of an impending disaster in Rajgarh. Typically, he wasn’t inclined to put too much stock in such rumors. But trade had slowed down because of it, affecting their source of income and fragile existence.
By itself, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world were it not for another growing concern.
Their usual way of operation was based on a series of hiding places interspersed over the desert landscape—the mesa that had a narrow hollow at its base, the wadi that appeared like it had never seen a year’s rainfall, the narrow passageway that wound its way through two steep cliff faces—they used them all to their advantage to hide and spring a surprise attack. The transient nature of their stay at any place ensured they were never caught easily.
But lately, with the trade slowing down, they had to restrict themselves to hiding places that bordered the busier thoroughfares. Which added an element of predictableness that their enemy was ready to exploit.
King Pourava of Vivismati was as ruthless as his nephew. Veer, at least, was fair in their dealings; King Pourava suffered no such obligations.
His men, when caught, were put to death instead of being imprisoned. It struck fear into the hearts of the rest. He didn’t blame his people for their anxiety. He hardly had any family left back home, unlike others, but he missed the familiar faces and the thought of not seeing them again filled him with sadness.
He tried a few times approaching King Pourava, but, having narrowly escaped the gallows last time, he wasn’t in any hurry to try again.
Surasen glanced back to where Vali disappeared. In the cramped hideout behind him, which was nothing more than a wide split in the rock face, were his meager belongings, including a very dusty, old mirror—adarpan.It was a magical one, created by King Bheesmala when he was younger and gifted to his grandfather. Things were very different back then, as Bheesmala had cared about his distant relations.
The mirror hadn’t been in use for several decades. Surasen wasn’t even sure if it still worked.
The wind whispered and the pebble tower came crashing down. “Good riddance” came Vali’s opinion from the tent. Surasen stared after the pile of rubble in mild dismay, a sole stone clasped in his hand. It would have broken his record. He drew his hand back and sent the rock dancing across the dunes.
Perhaps he was going about this all wrong. Perhaps antagonizing his cousin was not the way to go.
29
RIBBING BETWEEN FRIENDS
Veer found Samudra at the promontory. He stood at the ramparts, his back to the sea, gazing at something landward. Today the sky was overcast with gray clouds, making the stone palace appear a dense sable.
As Veer went to join him, laughter reached them, and he turned toward the sound. A group of women dressed in colorful sarees were playing catch on the terrace of the southern wing.
Because of the way the palace was constructed, the two wings were very visible from this promontory. Veer spotted his sister and Revathi, along with Chandra. A brightly colored monal—a pheasant with a brilliant plumage of green, blue, and yellow—had escaped its cage and was running around at their skirts, eliciting giggles and shouts. They seemed to have turned catching the bird into a game.
Veer was grateful that Chandra didn’t ask a lot of questions about his sister and cousin’s presence, but he knew she didn’t miss the hastily wiped tear tracks on his sister’s face or the guilty expression lingering in Revathi’s eyes.
“What’s the well for?” asked Veer when he reached Samudra’s side. Now that he was closer, Veer recognized thestone carvings and etchings to be powerful symbols, harkening back to forgotten times when myths still walked among humans.
“It maintains a connection with the sea,” answered Samudra. “That’s ocean water you see, filling the well. We need its magic to ensure our ships are shielded from the storms and monsters that inhabit the high seas.”
“How does that work exactly?”
Samudra gave him a sly smile. “Come now, Veer. Surely you don’t expect me to give away all our secrets.”
