Laldasa (52 page)

She back-tracked then, explaining their Nathu Rai's part in Ana's subterfuge, outlining what was happening to her fellow Avasans. Describing the tactics of the dalali, the involvement of a member of the Vrinda Varma, of Duran Prakash. The last incriminating the Consortium at its highest levels. She glanced at Twapar. He was white as a summer cloud and beginning to glisten with perspiration.

“Who is it?” Lord Mandal demanded to know. “Who, on the Vrinda Varma, is involved in this?”

Her eyes still on Twapar, the Deva answered. “He is also a member of this Inner Circle. A member conspicuous in his absence.”

All eyes moved to the empty seat usually occupied by Bel Adivaram.

“No!” Kreti Twapar half rose, his voice a barely audible wheeze. “You can't be so certain! Surely the testimony of an unscrupulous dalal-“

The Deva silenced him with a gesture. “As you will see, we have testimony from several quarters. Hadas Gupta, would you speak, please?”

The Avasan nodded and rose from his chair on the floor of the Chamber. “I was with Ana when they discovered us. We were separated trying to escape. I waited in the sub-level of the dalali until a dark blue air-car came into the alley. Three men got out. They put on hoods. One of them was Prakash-sama. I don't know who the other men were—I couldn't see them very well—but the man who came out to meet them and brought them the hoods was the Vadin Adivaram.”

Twapar made a whining sound in his throat. “Deva, please, are you so ready to condemn a beloved, respected peer on the strength of the testimony of this Avasan?”

“There is also,” said Jaya, “the testimony of my mother, the Rani Melantha, who can link both Duran Prakash and Bel Adivaram to an attempt to get Anala Nadim out of the House Sarojin. The testimony of the dalal implicates your respected peer in all sorts of ... intrigue.”

Twapar subsided, twitching, his eyes darting from face to face.

Next to him, Lord Mandal asked, “Will we receive a full report, then? Will we hear from the Rani Sarojin?” He nodded toward where Melantha Sarojin sat, silent and pale, beside her son.

“Shortly,” the Deva assured him, “but now I must ask the Lord Twapar some questions.”

“Me?” Twapar gasped. “What could I tell you?”

“You could tell us if you know anything about Bel Adivaram's involvement with the dalali.”

The old Lord's eyes shrunk to tiny jet beads among the sallow folds of his face. “How could I know such a thing? He ... he spent some time at the dalali. He has a large estate, needs many das to care for it.”

“You're his closest friend, Lord Twapar,” observed the Deva. “I thought perhaps you might have been taken into his confidence. Do you know anything about his involvement with the Consortium?”

“The Consortium? No! He had no dealings with the Consortium.”

“The Consortium had not approached you—either of you—with suggestions that you should show them favoritism in this or any other case?”

Twapar cringed. “No, no. It was the Workers' Coalition that threatened Bel—they threatened me. It wasn't the Consortium.” His eyes jerked frantically about the room. “Although ... although I believe—I believe the Consortium may be-“
 
He broke off and closed his eyes.

“May be what, Lord?”

“I have no proof,” he whined, sweating.

“Proof of what?” demanded the Deva, gently.

“The Workers' Coalition is a well-organized group of zealots. Perhaps they are hiding behind the Consortium's skirts—taking advantage of an implicit connection. You must admit, the Consortium's refusal to condemn their actions has lent them tacit support. Perhaps, we, em, need to actively enlist the aide of the Consortium in retrieving this situation. Perhaps, now that it's come to this—kidnapping—they'll be willing to condemn the Coalition's tactics and help get the Nadim woman back. If we entreat Nigudha Bhrasta-“

“What?” Jaya nearly snarled the word. “Have the KNC act as intermediary for a kidnapping they masterminded? That's obscene!”
 

“Nathu Rai.” The Deva's tone was warning.

Jaya ignored her. “Adivaram is the only one who knows where Ana is! He gave her to them!”

“No!” Twapar's gnarled hand knotted into a fist. “I will not believe it! I will not!” He broke off, wheezing horribly.

“Nathu Rai, you will stand down,” the Deva commanded. She turned her gaze to the old Lord. “You are not well, Lord Twapar. Perhaps you would like to be dismissed. I can see this has all been too much for your frail health.”
 

The old man nodded. “I am feeling rather weak, Deva. Bel is my dearest friend. I ... find it difficult to believe about him what you are asking me to believe. I think I would like to go home.”

“You may go then, if the Circle agrees.” She looked to the remaining members who, to a man and woman, nodded their accord.

Twapar rose shakily, looking as if the breeze created by the opening of the doors might fell him. He gazed around the room, his eyes glistening with emotion, then hobbled to the doors.

Jaya watched him leave, torn between suspicion and pity. So pathetic, the old man; dry as parchment mat, frail as cobweb. Could he be such an actor? Could he be party to what had happened to Bhaktasu Sarojin, to Ana?

Thinking of Ana, Jaya found himself caught, suddenly and inexplicably, in the coils of a vision so vivid, the council chamber seemed to disappear from around him.

Crystal. A box cut of bhasvata crystal. A wedding dress of red. The scent of incense. A flicker of light. The feeling of being utterly trapped. The taste of fear. His heart hammered against his ribs.
 

“Commander Gar,” the Deva was saying, “if you would be so good as to make certain the Lord reaches his home? Without letting him see you, of course. The Balin are at your disposal. Please use them.”

Gar rose, bowed to the Deva and swiftly exited the room.

Jaya watched him as if through a fog, his breath coming too quickly, and tried to bring his mind back to reality.

“Do you suspect Kreti of some part in this conspiracy?” asked the Deva Paramaya.

Sri Radha shifted in her seat. “Perhaps I simply want to make certain he arrives home safely. Nathu Rai Sarojin, if you would be so kind as to give the Circle your testimony.” When he did not respond immediately, she gave him a searching glance. “Nathu Rai, is something wrong?”

Jaya brought his eyes into focus on her face. Everything was wrong.

“I'm sorry, I ... just had a strong ... impression of Ana.”

How was one to describe such a thing? He felt ridiculous.

Radha was not laughing. She leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped before her. “What sort of impression, Jaya?”

“A room with flickering light, the smell of incense. A man's hands holding a box made of bhasvata.”

“That is all?”

“Fear.”

“You do not recognize the room?”

“No, Deva. How could I? Surely the place exists only in my imagination.”

The Deva sat back, nodding. “I believe you have some additional evidence to offer, as well as your first hand experiences?”

Jaya's breathing steadied. “I do, Deva. I have the Journal my father kept before his death. I have found it most enlightening.”

“Then enlighten us also, Nathu Rai.”

oOo

When, at length, the door opened, Anala only vaguely cared. Perhaps it would be Jaya or Father or the Sarngin. It was none of those. It was a hooded man. She wondered which one. When he spoke, she recognized him as the one her previous visitor had mockingly called the Mystic.

“So,” he said, “you haven't passed on the power ... ”

Unexpected words. “What do you mean?”

The man held out his hands as if in supplication. “For the love of Rama—a Rohin virgin! Do you realize what you are?” He cocked his head, as if reading her. “I assure you, I do, if my poor friend does not. As he told you, he doesn't believe. He thinks it's all Bogar nonsense. He is an ignorant man in some ways, interested in pleasure, power and now in humiliating your father. So, I have assured him, it matters not which of us first pierces you—it will pierce Rokh Nadim and Jaya Sarojin to the heart, as well. This is important to him—this act of humiliation. More important, I sometimes think, than his political aims. Little did he know that he had the instrument for the fulfillment of his every desire right here in his bed.”

What was he saying? Ana licked parched lips. “You were listening?”

He came to the bed now and lowered himself onto it. “I had the opportunity to have certain electronic devices installed in this chamber. I took it. He doesn't know, of course. He merely thinks I ... experienced sudden and ill-timed change of heart and an uncharacteristic inability to curb my desires. He does not appreciate ... ” His voice roughened with emotion. “ ... he does not realize, sweet Rohina, what you are. He looks at you and sees only a desirable body, a hostage, a political pawn. I look beyond the material and so see what neither my friend nor your mahesa can see—an indomitable spirit, a disciplined soul, a fountain of power. I will draw the power that Jaya Sarojin has so foolishly squandered and I will use it to free myself.”

His voice was warm, smooth, almost sweet, and strangely hypnotic. Ana's mind swum in the flickering light and the mingled scents of the incense and her own perfume. Her body trembled as if every atom in was being shaken by minute hands. This man was mad.

“Free yourself?” she repeated.

He made a strange gesture with his head, as if shrugging off a noose.

“I call him ‘friend'—in some ways he is my captor; in some ways, I am his. I have the advantage in that I recognize that all this—the politics, the entanglements, the relationships—are illusory. The game is bigger than my friend supposes it to be.”

Ana marshaled her thoughts, struggling to follow, perhaps to lead. “And what can I give you?” she asked.

He tilted his head and gazed at her almost fondly, the eyes behind their hooded slits, soft and yearning. They were the same color as Jaya's eyes, but there the resemblance ended. Madness had never peeked at her from Jaya's eyes.

“You can give me yourself, dear Rohina,” he said. He moved his hands to her neck, caressing. “And, in so doing, grant me power over the world of creation. Now, I manipulate ghosts, illusions. With your gift, with the Jadu, I shall manipulate realities. Let us begin.”

A chill sliced through Ana's heart. She opened her mouth to dissuade or distract, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips.

“No more questions. Let us begin.” He fingered the topmost close of the gown. “The old myths say the Genda Sita are children of the God of Darkness. This is one reason I have dressed you in red, you know—the color of the Sacred Flame, Indra's color. I thought it ironic.”

“What other reasons?”

He seemed amused at her question. “What? Have I discovered a secret vanity?”

“I only seek to understand the man I join with.”

The answer apparently pleased him. He nodded. “Red is traditional for a wedding gown, of course. And though we will not be man and wife in the more traditional sense, this will be a marriage of sorts—a marriage of souls.” He paused, then added, “Then too, I have simply observed that red becomes you. Now, no further questions, Anala. We must begin.”

He loosed the first clasp, speaking to her as if he were a teacher giving a lesson. “Being the children of Darkness, say those old tales, the Genda Sita are born in the bowels of the world where their flesh never knows the saving and enlightening rays of Mitras.”

He parted the second clasp. “The myths also say that the bowels of the world are heated by the fires of Niraya Hell and that when a man makes love to a Genda Sita woman, he can feel the fire. She offers to warm him against the chill of her flesh, then sears his soul and paralyzes all sense of good and evil—all will. Fire and snow. A most paradoxical combination.”

His eyes met hers, fondly. “Of course, in this day and age, we have knowledge those ancient myth-makers did not. We know that even the children of Darkness have red blood flowing in their veins, and so, are no more or less human than we.”

He loosed the third clasp and parted the translucent folds of cloth.

“Ah! ... ” He laid his hand, palm down, on her breast, fingers splayed. “How dark my flesh seems against yours. And I am fair for one of my race. Fairer, even, than your beloved Jaya.”

At the sound of Jaya's name, Ana closed her eyes, letting the tears squeeze out beneath her lids, remembering that he, too, had touched her there. Had he also noticed how pale she was? Had he thought to himself of fire and ice and the bowels of the world? Or had he thought only of flesh and blood?

She cried silently, her body quaking. She had once dreamed for herself the gift of flight. She wished she only might have for a moment the power this madman accorded her. She would stop the beating of her heart and fly from him on the wings of Yama.