KIAHA'S KINGS, GANDRING'S CURSE

KIAHA’S KINGS

In the backwaters of an ancient island kingdom a reckless young man sought pleasures from life. Iram-nasamuda had shown himself to be different from other children and caused himself to be respected yet distrusted while still a child by his audacious acts of recklessness which encouraged people to think he was an incarnation, within whom a god had chosen to be reborn.

So as he grew, Iram was considered beyond the laws which governed other folk, until he and his young friends began extracting 'toll' from anyone they could intimidate at the northern gate.

Finally, when Iram was accused of trying to rape a young woman, then, the irate populace, wielding all manner of implements as weapons, chased him from their village and sent him roaming.

Iram, being strong and tall, with an inquiring mind and adventurous spirit, chose to see his expulsion as an opportunity to gain experience from the wider world. Once safely distant from the valley of his birth he wandered freely from village to village finding whatever work he could until he became the apprentice of an elderly goldsmith who began to teach him the craft as Iram pumped the bellows and cleaned the moulds. Iram enjoyed the work because he’d hungered to learn and felt a natural attraction to the malleable and majestic metal.

After a year Iram’s master sent him to a neighbouring village to collect the gold for a special commission, but, when Iram arrived to collect the small parcel he was wrongly recognized by a travelling rice merchant as the rogue and rascal he’d been before. The gold-merchant refused to part with the gold, a fight began in which a knife was drawn, the merchant was killed, and again Iram had to flee for his liberty and very life.

Iram the rascal, gambler, accused rapist and slayer, fled desperately across paddy fields and pasture before taking refuge in the Jilar mountains where he struggled to simply survive. Huddling amongst the roots of trees, bitten from head to foot by insects, eating earthworms, mushrooms, and bitter ‘fruit’ he sometimes prayed for death, but after making contact with other forest dwellers, and learning to harmonise and reap the bounty of the forest, he steadily regained his physical and psychological strength.

For more than seven years Iram sheltered in those mountains, living by his acquired skills and gaining incidental knowledge from the holy men and ascetics whose devotional practices were said to give them magic power. One of the strange old hermits told Iram that his destiny was to be a king, and though Iram liked the idea he wasn't consumed by what seemed to him a fantastic notion because many of the myths he’d heard as a child related the hope-filled story of a commoner destined to be a righteous king.

The old men who spoke of their visions, chanted their incantations, and made their predictions, were more entertainment than anything else for Iram, although he’d become aware that powerful words could be magic if they brought about the desired effect.

When Iram was twenty years old a priest named Lohgawe experienced a revelation concerning a re-incarnated god and traveled from far away seeking him who matched the signs.

After much questing the priest found Iram as a forest ascetic, and when he explained his mission to Iram it sounded unlikely but an excellent opportunity to improve his situation, so Iram made no objection to the priest’s devotions and assertions and returned with him to the capital of that state of Tumapel, aptly named Usana.

For Iram the first sighting of the small city came after three days walking when the mountain path emerged from between two peaks, and Iram looked down a long broad valley of the fast flowing Tambak River laughing its way toward the ocean which lay across the horizon. In mid-distance was the broad cultivated area of rice paddies astride the meanders, and still far away the palace and temple spires of the walled city of Usana.

As the day progressed they emerged from the forested mountains, stopped to bathe in hot-springs, and then continued down toward the floodplain. Bamboo swayed, bananas hung in big bunches, and birds circled. Small clusters of simple thatched huts housed the farming families whose many playing children laughed and shouted out to them from a distance.

 As they came closer to the city they began passing by rice fields where people were intent on their harvest. Mountains still hemmed them in on both sides of the valley but they were further apart and the clean blue sky shone with sunlight so the crops were green and gold, waving their bowed heads in the flighty breeze. 

The path gradually became a track and there was a great deal of riverbank activity. Boys cast nets, water flowed in channels, and dunkles of ducks grazed large areas of newly harvested fields where bird scarers no longer spun in the breeze. On both sides of the road were huts of bamboo and thatch, To the east and west rainforest blanketed the valley walls all the way up to the clouds on the tops of the mountains.

They continued on to some crossroads where they turned right, crossed the river on a floating bridge, and began passing fine stone and timber houses until they stood gazing at the blossoming lotuses reflected in the moat that surrounded the palace complex that they gladly entered through a tall gateway.

Iram was shaved, groomed, dressed appropriately, and after a week of coaching and orientation, introduced to men of substance as Lohgawe’s only adopted son, Sangsury.

Sang looked every part the slim and wiry holy man after seven sparse years of jungle. He’d taken part in many devotional ceremonies and debates so he was readily accepted into the circle of the outer court as a young scholar with a broad-ranging knowledge of esoteric and practical religion, and provided with a position within the palace administration, helping with, and then later, when his master fell ill, overseeing the left-handed ritual calendar; and subsequently, his personal destiny.

The main temple, where Sang spent most of his time, was a large building within the city walls on the side nearest to the mountains. It was a very tall memorial with above the entrance a tusked and glaring stone image wearing a necklace of skulls hung around its thick black neck.

During the second spring Sang took on responsibility for organizing the celebrations for the return of the rulers of Tumapel, King Rajasa and Queen Kalana, the reclusive royals much loved by their subjects because they’d helped them to rebuild their lives after the havoc caused by devastating volcanic eruptions that had changed the course of the river. 

The royal knowledge of dam and road building, and the implementation of their courageous projects during their long reign had regenerated agriculture and trade, and put an end to both the floods and famine which had too often crushed the farmers.

The royal family had been on the annual procession to outlying regions of Tumapel to visit the ancestral sanctuaries, have audience with local officials, meet the people, and boost morale in that small but fertile and strategic region. Horsemen holding pennanted lances and elephants bedecked with bright brocade led a long procession of carts and draft animals. Music was being played by trumpeters and drummers while ranks of cavalry and foot troops followed from behind brightly colored royal banners.

Warm misty rain was falling and being blown about by light gusts as King Rajasa stepped down from the carriage and strode past the banners and musicians into the entrance hall of the palace. Sang watched from his place in the line of officials but quickly changed his focus as the King passed because he was most interested in seeing the Queen as she was being helped down from her carriage by the leader of the guard.

Queen Kalana’s head and shoulders appeared at the door. She was magnificent. Such a face, and as she smiled her benevolent smile she stretched out her long left leg toward the step, but as her delicately embroidered slipper touched down, as a consequence of a mischievous breeze, a sliver of thigh was revealed to him for a moment so fleeting it he could never be absolutely certain, a glimpse of her genitalia; which glowed.

Iram was awe-struck, for that was the sign predicted for him by the old men of the forest; so suddenly he knew she was the woman meant to be his queen; the woman who was already Queen! Consort of the ruler; and ruler in her own right.

Sang immediately realised that he must marry her. It wasn’t that her grace and beauty were new to him. He’d admired her since the first time he’d seen her. But her exalted position, and the revealed sign, had worked like an overwhelming love potion so he began to seriously plan his way to fulfilling his destiny; to be her King.

Sang was impatient for progress so that night he turned back and forth in his bed while dreaming that he possessed a weapon of great mystical power with which he would easily slay his rival. When he awoke before dawn to a flashing tropical storm he’d already decided to seek out the blade-maker whom the dream had revealed. Murder hadn’t been part of his plan, but that was before he’d seen his Queen. And dreamt that dream!

The next morning Sang’s request for five days leave from his duties to enable him to visit his ailing father was granted, but he rode instead up into the mountains of his exile to find Gandring, the graybeard of his dream who kept his secrets to himself but was the true master of metal. He brewed magic in his blades by the sheer physics of fire and meteoric matter, tempered with the patience and purity of his heart from many years of devotion, isolation, meditation and hard work.

The heating, the hammering; the shock of icy mountain water! Five times the laminated steel had been filed to dust, fed through different birds and animals and reworked as ever more pure metal. After four months the blade was almost ready, in its final firing, buried to the hilt in burning coals, glowing red like the eyes of a maddened dragon. Being brought to life by Gandring; the Master!

Dogs barked in the distance during the hour before dark when the tempo of the birds had sparsened and the shadows lengthened to fill whole valleys. Gandring heard the hooves of the man coming to collect his weapon.

Sang greeted Gandring warmly, embracing him like a father, but on entering his home he was immediately entranced by the weapon being heated in the forge at the centre of the room. He laughed heartily before becoming suddenly agitated when told that he must wait for three more days; “For one more dipping in the blood of eagles.”

It was all beyond reason but the impatient greed for power subsumed Sang’s soul as his gloved hand drew the glowing blade from the coals. Gandring was alarmed by Sang’s impertinent actions and alerted by the way Sang seemed mesmerised by the spitting sparks. He fiercely spoke, “You tell me this blade is not yet ready! 

But I am! 

So your blood will quench its thirst!”

Plunging the sputtering blade into the chest of its maker, Sang laughed the twisted laughs of demons while raising the blade with his straight arm above his head to shower in the evil of his actions and the warm drops of Gandring’s screaming blood.

The old man fell back clutching his chest; his grey hair scattered and his eyes like fiery opals, but before the blood could fill his throat he cursed out loud; “Kiaha!” he growled at the blade, “You must kill seven kings, for me, and him shall be your favorite prey!” pointing to Sang until his arm slumped and twisted.

Gandring’s words missed Sang’s ears because he was entirely captivated by the power of the bloodied sword, which he swung down again, splitting a water barrel in one stroke, and then again, to cleave the steel anvil into two equal pieces. Kiaha rang with each clash while Sang stood transfixed, hypnotized, and enchanted. Drunk with fermenting power and insane in his ambition to be Kalana’s husband; and the absolute ruler of Tumapel, Sang straddled the old mans body.

Back from the mountains and safely re-installed in the palace Sang put to work his plan-for-power by showing his dandy friend Kosangin the blade he’d so recently killed for; although he kept that piece of information to himself.

Kosangin swooned at the sight of the dull but distinguished weapon marked at the hilt with the sign of two dragons biting on each other’s tails. He suggested that he may be allowed to polish it, create a handle worthy of it, and perhaps even wear it when the occasion befitted. “Please do!” said Sang, knowing that Kosangin was very clever in the crafting of ivory, gold, pearls and precious stones.

“Here are some beauties for you,” he said, showing him two perfect rubies which he’d taken from Gandring. “But nobody must know from where this pretty blade has come. She has a personality and power of her own and needs to keep her mystery. There are many magical acts for her to perform, so her life has just begun.”

Having said that, Sang clicked the blade with his thumbnail to show Kosangin how the weirdly pitched vibration could make a grown man cringe.

Kosangin was very pleased to have the blade in his possession. Although there was nothing extraordinary about its size or shape she had a powerful aura, like a lost lover’s perfume, or the stare of a venomous spider. Kosangin used his artistic skills to patiently craft a handle worthy of the blade. An ivory dragon’s head with a golden collar and mane, and the two rubies for eyes. It was an inspired work when finished, and Kosangin held it adroitly as he slid Kiaha silently into her silver scabbard.

During the following weeks Kosangin wore the sword twice, feeling very proud to have her attached to his belt, and having no problem in allowing others to assume it was his own. Kiaha had a rare beauty and an obviously dangerous form beneath her sombre face, glinting as sinisterly as the scales on a sunbathing snake. Particularly for him who saw no danger in his stupefying vanity.

A few nights later, when Kosangin slept soundly after taking part in the rituals for the equinox, Sang slipped stealthily into his room, slipped the weapon from its sheath, and after silent steps into the royal chambers, slid the blade deeply into the King’s sleeping heart.

At the discovery of King Rajasa’s blood-drained corpse the first cries went up like a hundred more cock’s crowing into the early morning mist.  Sang was vocal in the chorus of outrage and ready to avenge the cowardly slaying of his much-loved sovereign. Without delay of trial, or other legal process, the apparent assassin, despite his panic-stricken protests, was immediately beheaded by the commander of the embarrassed palace guard and his house ransacked before being burnt. Kosangin’s son mourned helplessly over his dead father’s headless corpse so Sang showed pity and made a valet of him, which coincidentally reinforced his reputation for being a compassionate person, as well as a man of action, piety, and a commanding presence.

The first major obstacle to his obsession was removed yet one less obvious obstacle had been set in place by his wicked actions. Gandring’s curse had taken its first king and even as Sang put her safely away in her scabbard he had no way of turning her back, to quell her, to properly take possession of that sword, or control it, because he’d not learned her name.

During the time of greatest grief for the Queen, and the general feeling of instability within the kingdom caused by the loss of their much-admired male sovereign, Sang’s important role pushed him to the fore in arranging the ongoing ritual associated with the entombment of the king, and protection of the Queen from unnecessary intrusions.

He spent much time seeing to her comfort and consolation while transmitting her orders and organizing ceremonial procedures; but then to almost everyone's amazement, within the span of a single harvest, and in conjunction with the associated festivities, Sang announced to the assembled court that he and Queen Kalana intended, very soon, to be married.

The announcement of the engagement and the subsequent preparations were extant with the pageantry and pomp befitting the enthronement of a righteous and respected man as husband of, and King to, Queen Kalana, even though Sang knew himself to be a murderer.

Once married, crowned, and more than comfortable on his throne Sang felt it timely to exert his authority by declaring himself unencumbered ruler of the newly united and independent Tumapel, which had until then still been a collection of rather insignificant districts that traditionally owed allegiance to its larger and more populous neighbour, Daha.

Sang caused even more aggravation by openly offering material incentives to landless farmers throughout the region in an attempt to overcome the labour shortage which limited Tumapel's harvest, the tax base, and thereby his military strength.

East of the Kawi mountains, just two days ride from Sang’s palace in Usana, the always arrogant and mischievous Kertajaya, ruler of Daha, and nominal overlord of the entire region, was justifiably outraged by his ‘subjects’ impertinence so he was behaving in ways typical of tyrants.

Primarily he was causing unprecedented dissatisfaction amongst his priests by insisting on being worshipped as a God. He told them bluntly, “When I am dead the world will again worship other gods but while I live I am the ruler, absolute, and you priests must worship me!"

The holy men were stunned to bowed silence but the head priest finally replied, "Sire, the Gods command us for they are eternal, but there has never been a priest who worshipped a living king. How might we begin at this moment to do so?"

Kertajaya looked down at the old man with glaring contempt, and coldly spoke, "Be careful priest, for who is more powerful than me? I am both King and God! There is no one who is equal in power to me! I possess the earth and you who live upon it. You drink from my streams and breathe my air so with the world and you ants which walk upon it I may do exactly as I wish." He suddenly appeared as a manifestation with four arms and three eyes, and said calmly, but with flames coming from his mouth, "See little priests, how wondrously powerful I am!"

Miracles and manifestations were the traditional territory of the priests and they were horrified by his obvious determination to usurp their religious functions as intermediaries between the sacred and secular. In a state of controlled panic they decided amongst themselves to hurry his downfall before he was the disempowerment or death of them all.

Contemporaneously, Sang who had already proven himself to be the confident and forthright ruler of Tumapel encouraged reports and rumours of his earthly style in order to continue to attract disaffected priests and officials to his court from the neighboring region of Daha. Making them most welcome, and allowing them more freedom in their functions, he encouraged plots against their former ruler and stressed the necessity of fully-functioning priests to appease the natural spirits, while the people maintained and expanded the irrigation network of dams and terraces upon which the very structure and function of their city-state depended.

Sang intended to subvert that essential structure within his neighbour’s region because just as a surplus of rice to trade and feed the army was the key to it's material prosperity and security, and the availability of labour was crucial, so the role of the priests was essential to the smooth operation of the rituals considered vital for maintaining the divine balance and administrative smoothness.

Within months many priests, court officials, and even entire armed units had defected to Tumapel to escape Kertajaya's increasingly unpredictable rule, and to be under the protection of Sang. The priests seemed to think they'd slipped from one perch onto another when Sang asked them to help draft a dispatch to Kertajaya, no longing just declaring independence, but demanding recognition of Sang as overlord.

As expected the ultimatum was returned torn to shreds, along with the defiant message that none but Ta’ane, god of all gods, could defy or defeat him. To the priest’s disgust, but the admiration of his generals, Sang responded to Kertajaya's challenge by assembling the combined clergy to witness him change his identity to Ta’ane, and in doing so, by then feeling materially and spiritually powerful enough, he ordered his troops to attack Daha.

Beneath the banner of the black dragon eating the moon Sang's cavalry and foot soldiers fought savagely against the unprepared and demoralised enemy, over-running the neighbouring region and laying siege to Kertajaya’s castle. Within a week only isolated skirmishing persisted and Sang had effectively become the ruler of both Daha and Tumapel, which he united and re-named Janggala.

Sang had risen from faceless commoner and exile reviled by the people of his village to become the ruler of the entire cultivable area, as the monk had said he would, even if the method of his promotion would not have been approved by that monk, or the general populace, if the truth of his succession could have been known by any other than the curse-ed sword.

During the next eighteen years of Sang's rule Janggala flourished because Sang's regime fostered and regulated maritime trade by establishing control over the traffic to and from nearby islands using fortified ports at the mouths of all of the large rivers. A well-equipped navy was created by a royal decree that every thousand men along the coast were to build a warship ten fathoms in length to make stopping and paying duty by traders compulsory. The wealth from the east-west trading from the islands flowed into the royal treasuries and some of that wealth was spent on building the temples and monuments necessary to honour the ancestor spirits, but most of the funds were used to enhance the general welfare of the citizenry by improving the material and administrative infrastructure.

Overall harmony and prosperity met Sang's gaze as he viewed the realm from the terrace of his palace. The caged birds perched quietly in the summer heat and the boughs of shady trees spread out unmoved, but, unknown to Sang the circumstances which would soon lead to his downfall, after a very stable peace and long successful reign, were already in place.

As Sang and Kalana had discovered soon after their wedding, Kalana was newly pregnant when they'd married. Initially Sang couldn't, and didn't, try to hide his displeasure at the discovery but soon realized that even thinking of having the baby aborted was absurd. Kalana would never agree to such a thing, and even if she could it would kill their marriage. Sang was well counseled to forget the truth and treat the child as his own; in every respect.

That bright baby boy borne by Kalana they named Cakrawata, and in contrast to Sang's fears, their first child, who was exceptionally cute and clever, actually brought them much closer together. During the following years Queen Kalana bore another son, Tohjaya, and soon after, a beautiful daughter they named Sukadana.

Life in the palace was enjoyable and privileged but when Cakrawata had grown to be a young adult he approached his mother and complained to her about his perception that he was not treated as warmly by his father as his younger brother and sister were. The Queen tried to make light of her son's concerns but she was unpleasantly surprised and disturbed by his complaints because, though Sang would protest against the suggestion, she knew that it was true.

Cakrawata persisted with his questions until Kalana tightened her lips and sobbed because she’d always feared that this time would come. Her son, seeing his mother's distress, repeated his question and asked why she wept. She felt pity for him and was internally pressed to tell the truth so she impulsively revealed that Sang was not his biological father, and that his real father had been murdered while he was still in her womb.

This news Cakrawata accepted quietly and kept to himself although some of it was palace rumor he'd previously dismissed as nonsense. He dwelled upon it at length, lying on his bed counting years, considering consequences, and remembering expressions, until he decided that Sang must have been responsible for the death of the father he never knew!

That realization frightened Cakrawata profoundly, mostly because he'd grown up with, and loved Sang, as his father. But being impulsively youthful, though raised in a tradition of viscose loyalty, his mind was quickly made up to re-establish the royal Kalana bloodline with himself as King. He had no option, but, revenge!

At first opportunity Cakrawata took his father’s sword from his mother's chamber and gave it to his most loyal servant, convincing him with the promise of a large reward, to kill the King at the first opportunity.

That is exactly what the servant did, because his trusted position enabled him free movement and his loyalty to his young master was absolute. He took the opportunity to stab the King in the back while he was sitting alone examining a map of his domain, but when the servant subsequently returned to Cakrawata for his approval and reward he was surprised at the doorway by the scheming step-son and immediately murdered.

In the atmosphere of disbelief and confusion which followed Cakrawata was not suspected for his part in the murder, but instead, he was praised for slaying the mad servant who’d suddenly run amok.

Cakrawata naturally succeeded Sang because he was the eldest son, and though he adapted to his new role easily because of his upbringing as a Prince within the palace, he reigned within an aura of suspicion and guilt which kept him in constant fear of being discovered for his part in the killing of his stepfather.

Often the atmosphere surrounding him seemed strangely tense but Cakrawata knew that there was small chance the truth could be known by anyone but him. His secret was buried beneath the same earth as the servant so he determined to shake off the remorse and conscientiously apply himself to his legitimate role as King, and bearer of the reinstated Kalana bloodline. He continued the policies of territorial consolidation begun by his stepfather and after the initial period of limited instability caused by the unexpected succession, the kingdom responded to the vitality of Cakrawata's new hierarchy.

The growth in wealth and power was maintained by steady expansion into neighbouring islands and peninsulars where small autonomous clans had previously remained outside the political control and tax-reach of the central authority. The new King also commanded complete control of the rice trade by decreeing that no rice could be sold except to him and no rice could be bought except from him; on pain of death.

Cakrawata kept himself busy within the palace walls, bolstered his troop of personal security guards, and even had a new sleeping chamber arranged in a squat tower from where he could survey his realm. A moat was constructed to surround his bed as he became more obsessed with his own safety, but even those extraordinary measures were not enough to protect him from his half-brother, Tohjaya, who after four years had finally discovered the truth about his father's death while taking liberties with a servant girl.

As often happens the truth about the slaying of Sang was deeply suspected amongst the servants though not among the upper echelons because it had been a servant who'd died for the crime and the family of peasants who'd grieved knew of his loyalty to his master and thereby guessed the pattern of circumstances.

Tohjaya offered no clue to anyone because he still didn't even want to believe it himself. The royal family was very close, living together within the palace and city walls, performing their various duties and sharing their pleasures and privileges. The wives of Cakrawata and Tohjaya were like sisters, and their two sons like brothers. Why then did Tohjaya gradually decide he must kill his half-brother? Was it really the action he was compelled to take to revenge his dead father? Was it an excuse to exercise his own lust for power? Or was their some other force in operation?

One way or the other, under the pretext of a cockfight, which Cakrawata could never resist, Tohjaya gained his brother's confidence by bringing his champion to fight. After comparing birds and lashing the razor-sharp blades to their legs, the cocks were preened, teased and put together. The angry birds lunged at each other, feathers flying and blood being spilled, but while the king was preoccupied with the final phase of the cock's fighting Tohjaya reached to where Kiaha was kept and with one swift move ripped it from the wall and slashed his half-brother's neck, almost severing his head.

As soon as Cakrawata lay prone and bleeding to death Tohjaya was aghast at what he’d done, though he’d easily convinced himself it was the right and proper thing to do before he’d done it. His half-brother had murdered the King, Tohjaya’s father, so Cakrawata deserved to die himself! But looking down at the still twitching body of his brother it all seemed so terribly wrong.

With very mixed feelings Tohjaya announced the reasons for his actions to the rest of the family while Cakrawata’s body was being removed and prepared for the pyre. Despite his private misgivings Tohjaya kept a stern face and made it undoubtedly clear that he was the new King and focus of power and worship.

Amongst the royal family there was an atmosphere of disbelief, and expressions of sadness at the death of Cakrawata, but they had to subsume their grief to provide a dignified atmosphere as Tohjaya formally took the throne. He also married his brother’s wife and adopted her son at the same time as donning the crown.

Tohjaya was torn between regret and justification while dealing with the reactions of his family but he let them know there was no turning back and that they could not really question his authority because he was the rightful King.

Widespread outrage was expressed by the populace when they learnt of Cakrawata’s death but when Tohjaya took the throne he would entertain no resistance to his usurpation of power and put into practice a campaign of suppression the kingdom had never known before. Tohjaya was dismayed by his own unpopularity and though he stamped down hard on any hints at insurrection his paranoia allowed him no rest. His anxiety was boundless, the morale of the citizenry was visibly low, and he felt as though there were threats to his rule at every quarter, especially in relation to his cousins. A pair of twins who thought with one mind.

Tohjaya’s sycophantic advisers, who benefited from their master’s insecurity, suggested that his cousins, Kimbal and Warak, were plotting against him, and they advised the King to be rid of them and any others who had any hereditary claim on the throne. 

Tohjaya had become degenerate, brutal and stupid enough to believe all that his advisers told him so he sent an order to Pralaya, the captain of his bodyguard, to have the cousins killed forthwith.

Pralaya hesitated and involuntarily showed displeasure. Being confused by his anxiety Tohjaya recklessly threatened Pralaya with a painful death himself if he failed to carry out his instructions personally and promptly.

Pralaya was a career soldier who’d risen through the ranks since serving King Rajasa. His loyalty to the kingdom was unquestionable and all with eyes were aware of the respect he commanded amongst the ranks where, in contrast, the honour and authority of the throne had progressively diminished.

Pralaya had some sympathy for the cousins because he considered them slightly less evil than Tohjaya whom he saw as too much of a loose cannon. He wanted more than anything to see a suitable level of respect restored to the paramount position of King. He also had no wish to lose his own head, so in the hope the twins did have a viable plan to do away with Tohjaya he warned them of the situation. At least if they did take over the throne they would be so lazy that they’d be inundated with his staff.

The cousins had feared for their security since Tohjaya had come to power, but their concerns that he'd annihilate them had increased as they’d followed the development of his paranoia. For that reason they'd planned ahead.

Knowing full well that the King would be alert to any real or imagined danger the twins had assigned for their assassin the youngest and most unlikely person in the diminutive figure of a six year old boy, who, with their covert assistance had become the close companion of Tohjaya’s sons. The three of them were well known for their cute but highly competent flute recitals.

The occasion for killing came on Tohjaya’s birthday when a special performance had been arranged for the particular pleasure of the King. Although he was so intensely paranoid, the paranoia helped to cloak the real danger for Tohjaya so that he felt quite at ease with the small children, and absolutely delighted to have the three little boys there to play their bubbly tunes in his isolated chamber while he sat on his throne smiling like an unstrung puppet, not knowing that every evening, in complete secrecy, one of the small boys had been trained to use the sword.

When the cherubic trio had finished performing for Tohjaya he indulged them with sweets and encouraged conversation. If he’d been in the habit of looking into children’s eyes he may have noticed the pupils of Esofo were sharp, but he didn’t, and when Tohjaya’s guard was completely down the young boy asked to see the beautifully filigreed scabbard that Tohjaya displayed on the wall behind his throne. Tohjaya, feeling more at ease than he had for months, proudly showed the small boy the sheathed weapon, only to be completely dumbfounded, and unable to defend himself when the child deftly drew the blade from it’s scabbard and used the first slice to severe the tendons behind Tohjaya’s knees to more easily run the sword through the King’s left side as he buckled beneath his own weight.

The small assassin then turned swiftly toward his companions and ‘best friends’, Tohjaya’s sons, and moved to kill them too. With one more stroke which began from an arm-raised position above his small head he cut Tohjaya’s blood-son at the junction of neck and shoulder causing a gourish death, but Pralaya, standing guard outside the doorway, had reacted to the first sound of sliding metal and arrived in time to slice the young killer into two diagonal pieces before any injury could be inflicted upon Atrazak, the true grandson of Kalana and Rajasa.

Pralaya saw that it was obviously too late to save Tohjaya or son. Their wide-open eyes and flowing wounds were testament to their ghastly surprise, but Pralaya was not too concerned about that because he’d saved young Atrazak. His loyalty lay with the Kalana dynasty, of which Atrazak was rightful heir, and he could see that the present example of treachery was only the beginning of a purge by the cousins.

Although they were in some ways preferable to Tohjaya, Pralaya had decided to take the chance of getting the succession back on track by protecting the child who carried the royal blood in his veins, but did not have the same blood on his hands. 

Pralaya moved quickly, knowing that the cousins would be expecting to see the bodies of all three children amongst the gory remnants of Tohjaya’s rule. He undressed the quivering boy and ordered his lieutenant to immediately fetch a young servant of similar size and complexion; to dress him in Aztracak’s clothing, and savagely dismember and disembowel him. They ensured that his face was suitably disfigured and as much blood as possible spilled from the decoy’s body.

Pralaya carried Atrazak, dressed in the servant's tunic, out of the King’s chamber through a little-used passageway, to where his deputy, Rangga Lawe, had a chariot waiting. There was no protest or resistance from the boy who was deeply shocked by the treachery, the sudden change of situation, and the loss of his foster-father and brother. He’d stood very still and silent while the unfamiliar tunic was pulled over his head and tied at the waist, trusting completely in Pralaya, and allowing himself to be handed over to Rangga Lawe to enact the plan they’d considered best if the boy’s safety was ever threatened.

Amongst what was a regular patrol of soldiers Lawe’s chariot was shepherded out of the palace with the grandson hidden in a box at his feet. They proceeded across the floating bridge but not long after they had arrived on the far bank of the river Rangga separated from the troop and turned north. He traveled as quickly as possible along the narrow earthen roads toward the forest of Trik on the far side of Mount Lejar, where the growing band of Kalana loyalists were secretly encamped.

Back in the palace Pralaya had raised the alarm after a short interval of suspended animation so that the ensuing clamor would cover the recent departure of Lawe. Pralaya wanted Kimbal and Warak to accept that Atrazak had been killed and thereby feel secure in their coup d’tet because he knew that otherwise they wouldn’t stop until they’d killed all potential heirs, or other threats to their power.

The twins were ecstatic at the news of Tohjaya’s demise and with the complicity of a compliant soothsayer the new leaders were made to feel sure that the world had again become balanced by their twinnish natures, and the will of the gods restored by their reign.

The main task for Pralaya was to keep the small boy alive and healthy; and distant. He knew Rangga Lawe had delivered the child to the safety of his loyalist troops hidden deep in the forest and he had had no trouble returning and re-entering the palace during the turmoil following the assassination because he was highly trusted and generally respected.

The newly declared rulers had ruthlessly stolen power from the dead Tohjaya and immediately declared martial law, but the people were united in their silence because they had already learned what suffering resulted from protests against the powerful. The general feeling amongst the peasants was that no-one could be worse than Tohjaya, but they didn’t realize the twins were two more large steps in the wrong direction. Pralaya noted the individual demeanour of each of the officials at the cremation of Tohjaya and ‘sons’.

Despite all of the proper ceremony taking place there was no official explanation for the deaths though the cousins used the event to broadcast warnings to all citizens about being ever vigilant for enemies of the realm, and stated emphatically that they would continue to clamp down on any subversion or dissent. In an atmosphere of political tension a new era of turmoil had begun.

Pralaya felt that he was under a shadow of suspicion from the new rulers because he’d been at the scene of the assassination, and he’d been the one who killed the small assassin. They seemed unsure of whether he’d stay silent about who was behind the attack, “if he knew”, but fortunately the brothers were most interested in taking advantage of the prosperous trade which Tohjaya had patronized and sponsored with his new laws to regulate tariffs and measures, so they’d not yet come to any conclusion in relation to Pralaya.

As well as matters of state the brothers were also fond of hunting, involving themselves in it on a grand scale, surrounding large areas of selected jungle with hundreds of drummers and beaters to herd the frightened animals into a smaller and smaller area until they had their free choice to slaughter them at will. It was a deathfull distraction.

As the region flourished Janggala became more part of a wider world instead of the isolated state it had previously been. The wealth accumulated through trade was spent on extravagant extensions to the central palace, improved roads throughout the state, a fleet of large ships, and a new complex of ancestoral temples. But wealth bred external threats of war and extensive trade included escalating conflict.

Pralaya maintained discipline amongst the strengthened palace guard but wished to remove himself from the gaze of Kimbal and Warak because he could still feel their doubts about him so he suggested to the Kings that he take some laborers to begin the preparation of the forest of Trik for a hunting area.

The Kings were glad to see him gone from the palace and doing something useful but distant, and Pralaya felt relieved because it was in line with the plan he’d devised with Rangga Lawe. With another 200 hand-picked men at Trik, Pralaya would be better able to oversee the protection of the rightful heir to the throne, continue to train him in his future role, and quickly establish a fighting force at what was becoming the base for an attack against the present political centre at some time in the near future. At the cremation Pralaya had noted that more generals looked saddened than gladdened by the latest assassinations.

While the newly cleared area was fortified and made productive Rangga Lawe worked to increase his influence in the upper echelons of the court by looking for divisions amongst the generals, and fostering allies. The twins commanded very little respect despite the appearances practiced by the officials who cherished their privileges. The low level of loyalty to the twins amongst the rank and file, and people in the countryside, was also working in the rebels favor.

Beneath the thick canopy of tropical forest far up the hidden valley preparations continued, using a large number of exiles, escapees, and refugees built up from the tyrannical rule of Tohjaya and the brothers. Weapons were being collected or forged, arrows made, and Pralaya had sent for extra horses to be brought from further east. Preparations were pushed on by a new urgency when the Kings sent word that they were impatient to hunt in the new forest. Fortunately for Pralaya and his followers, the brothers and their cronies had been making some bad decisions so they were more likely to have to defend themselves from a northern borderline island where a precarious balance of power had existed for centuries, than go hunting in the forest of Trik.

Both Daha and Tumapel, and then Janggala had maintained good relations with the island’s rulers but the Twin-Kings, listening to bad advice from their sycophantic staff had sent troops to take control of the island oblivious to the fact that the islands overlord was also very strong from trade and committed by treaty to defend it.

That neighbouring king reacted angrily by preparing an attack fleet while simultaneously testing the diplomatic situation by sending an envoy to collect tribute from the brothers as a symbolic gesture of appeasement, and a change of mind.

Pralaya as a royal soldier, and now as a rebel leader, understood the importance of intelligence so there wasn’t a movement on any river or road that didn’t come to his attention. He was the first to know of the arrival of the envoy’s ship and intrigued to hear that when the envoy arrived at the royal court to relay the message from his monarch he was roughly taken prisoner and held for two days by Nambi, the cowardly thug who had been made prime minister in preference to Rangga Lawe.

During the period of interrogation and humiliation Nambi’s lieutenants had cut off the envoy’s nose and branded his forehead with the mark of a burning skull, before returning him to the ship that had brought him, which was then driven off with arrows. It was obviously a recklessly stupid act of spiteful defiance, so Pralaya looked for the way it could benefit him as his tentacles of spies and fifth columnists spread ever wider. His lookouts were extended further along the coast and with the aid of large metal mirrors they flashed messages from mountaintop to mountaintop fast enough for him to be the first to know of the oncoming fleet bent on retribution. The events had forced Pralaya’s hand but there were plenty of factors he could take advantage of.

As soon as Pralaya had received intelligence concerning the imminent arrival of an army ready to attack the capital he prepared his troops for their own raid and sent them into position. He then led a delegation to meet the leaders of the punitive expedition to offer help against the cousin kings, in the form of maps and local knowledge, and the promise of two princesses and much booty to be provided as tribute to the neighbouring ruler for saving them from the barbarous despots.

The leaders of the retributive invasionary force were at first aggressive, dismissive and suspicious when approached by Pralaya, but couldn’t resist taking advantage of their unexpected allies because they were in unfamiliar territory and recognized Pralaya as a heroic character.

The leader ordered the troops to re-group on the banks, take control of the river-mouth and otherwise prepare for an early morning assault. Pralaya had sent Rangga Lawe to denounce the actions of Nambi as prime minister in order to create a diversion and commotion. According to Lawe’s plan all guard troops rostered were his own, in order to more easily keep the twin-kings and the court distracted from the external threat.

Lawe surprised everybody by arriving at the palace unannounced and began voicing his disapproval in an uncompromising manner. His uncharacteristically aggressive attitude shocked the officials present in the audience hall when he directly addressed the Kings. “Your Majesties”, he stated emphatically, “all of your efforts at keeping our state great will be useless because of the diplomatic disaster which has followed your choice of Nambi for Prime Minister. Surely I should have been taken into consideration before him!”

“But we did choose Nambi.” Warak replied imperilously.

“You did!” Lawe accepted, “but I’m convinced that you’ve made a serious mistake in this case. His appointment and reckless actions will bring great harm to us all! His violent stupidity shall not go without revenge from our previously amiable neighbors!”  he stated. Savoring the irony of knowing how close that army actually was. “And I have heard”, he continued, “that they have a mighty army and ships enough to take off all our noses!”

This treasonous declaration shocked the whole audience, though no one gave any impression of believing such exaggerated claims, but Rangga Lawe was no longer appeaseable and continued his unprecedented attack on Nambi.

“Look at him!” said Lawe, pointing across the broad hall, “He is stupid, weak, fearful and ugly. He is disappointing in every thing. He’s a man without courage; without prestige or intelligence. He will destroy the good image of our state! I challenge him for a duel at any time, at any place!”

The hall was filled with concerned and surprised murmurs in response to the tense situation which had developed. Nambi was deeply embarrassed. He bit his lip to suppress his anger, while his face reddened with shame and he stretched and unstretched his fingers on the table in front of him to help control himself.  He thought he knew, and felt some relief to know, that Rangga Lawe and his family would have to bear the consequences for this reckless behavior of quarrelling before the Kings but he was unsure of the best way to react in order to save face himself.

Nambi slowly stood and stated, “Lawe, if you are man enough, gather your weapons because no-one may speak in this place as you have, simply out of envy! You are the fool, you discredit this court with your childish antics, and it is you who shall suffer!”

Lawe ignored the words of Nambi, repeated his challenge and strode out of the hall without asking permission. At the opposite side of the parade ground he took off his jacket, unsheathed his sword, and waited for Nambi to follow.

Kimbal and Warak conferred while alarmed conversation spread rapidly throughout the hall. The twins had also been dismayed by the treatment of the envoy; although they’d laughed at the time. They’d already discussed replacing Nambi with Lawe, but they knew that they'd inevitably lose respect if they conformed to his wishes after the way he’d behaved. Lawe was still one of their most valued generals, so they decided to send his uncle out to cool him down.

Unknown to the Kings, the invading troops who’d gathered at the river-mouth had already divided into two sections, the first remaining with the boats and maintaining control of the strategically important river-mouth while the larger contingent of infantry and cavalry, using the map supplied by Pralaya, had begun the march upstream to the floating bridge close to the palace.

When Lawe’s uncle approached him outside, Rangga maintained his disgust with the behavior of Nambi, and held the Kings responsible. Agreeing with his adamant rejection of the barbaric actions of Nambi, his uncle reminded Lawe that he was indebted to the Kings who’d always treated him well, trusted his martial skills, and endowed the privilege of him being able to enter the palace at will and confer with them frankly. He added that despite his crude behavior he was still a respected General so it was essential that he renounce his threatened rebellion, return to the palace, apologize to the Kings and restate his loyalty, because, as he reminded his nephew, treason, whatever shape it took, would affect the lives of all of his relations; now and forever.

Lawe replied, “Uncle, for your own safety I’ve kept you in ignorance of my true purpose. We have only two choices; either to continue serving or to revolt, and I have already decided to disobey my masters not only because they maintain such a loathsome fool in high office but also because they themselves besmirch the good name of Kalana, of whom the rightful heir still lives. My action this morning is the catalyst for a full-scale rebellion in order to revive the Kalana Dynasty, and I expect you to be an active participant. According to the way of nature we all must eventually face death,” continued Lawe. “But before that, each of us must live for their ideals and strive to reach the highest goal they can, no matter what the price. To be defeated in battle means that I, and all of my family, shall be killed, but to fight for truth against stupidity and evil we must not fear death. I want neither fame nor name, but rather than see Kimbal, Warak and Nambi remain in office I would prefer a heroic death!” he stated with intense determination. 

Without another word Lawe and his uncle marched from the courtyard with their deputies to where chariots were waiting.

On hearing that Lawe had not been swayed by his uncle’s argument and that his uncle had left with him, the emergency alarm was raised from towers all over the capital so that the royal troops were alert and prepared for any disturbance. The kings held council to discuss the likelihood of real conflict and completed the meeting by inciting the fighting spirit amongst the officers so that everybody seemed to be prepared to fight and to die for them.

Lawe was a well known hero of previous battles so he began gathering his sympathizers on the far side of the river Tambak where his extensive family compound was built. He then retired to say good-bye to his wife who tried to restrain him from fighting by telling him that in a dream the previous night she’d been collecting flowers when a flying crow had suddenly hit her basket and scattered the flowers all over the ground. Lawe’s wife accompanied him to the gate where they stopped and she saw him repeatedly look backward to see her for the last time.

Once out of sight Lawe turned his mind to the matter at hand and rushed to the battlefield, riding his favorite white horse ‘Invisible Cloud’. Lawe decided to command the small army himself, expecting that Nambi would also lead his troops, so that he could meet Nambi on the battlefield and kill him. Many loyal troops who had attempted to join Lawe had been cut down by Nambi’s royal forces as they forded the river though they’d been responsible for the first resistance and confused and terrorised the defensive troops.  As the first casualties of the unexpected internal conflict they floated with the stream, but word soon came that the royal troops had also forded the river, so Lawe ordered his troops to entice their enemies toward the west employing the tactic of minimal loss while waiting for Pralaya and the rest of his troops to arrive from the outlying areas.

He was pleased and excited to see Nambi seated upon his horse, watching the progress of the battle and conferring with his generals, obviously unaware of the larger force approaching from the river-mouth.  Lawe rode straight toward him, slaying several enemy riders on the way, and caught Nambi’s attention by emitting a blood-curdling war cry that stimulated Nambi to kick his horse and meet Rangga Lawe head-to-head. Nambi thrust with his sword but was parried by Lawe’s small shield. Both men turned their horses and clashed again and that time Lawe managed to stab Nambi’s horse in the right flank but missed Nambi who was quickly joined by a group of royal troops who fought Lawe back as they took Nambi from his stumbling horse and fled with him to safety.

After re-grouping, the royal troops launched a second attack, that time led by the kings themselves. They were implementing a plan to use their numerical advantage to encircle Lawes’ troops from three directions. That attack was also savage and many soldiers were killed on both sides but Nambi, whose personal guard were decimated defending him, had to escape again after riding clear of the fray, back toward the river where he jettisoned his horse and hid beneath the bank of the river waiting for a chance to escape.

As he crouched in the water under some ferns that hung from the bank, Nambi was nervously watching, then pleasantly thrilled, by the unexpected sight of Lawe arriving alone right in front of him and pausing in the river to allow his horse to drink. Nambi made the most of his good fortune by sneaking up behind the tired and slightly injured Lawe and lunging at him with his sword.  Nambi managed to deeply gash Lawe’s arm as he fended off the attack so he was knocked from the saddle, forcing him to fight for his life in the shallow water.

Lawe climbed onto a rock, but Nambi pulled him off balance, causing him to slide sideways and fall to where Nambi seized the back of his neck and pressed his head under the water in an attempt to drown him. Lawe struggled free with one arm but came out exhausted so Nambi gripped Lawe’s head under his armpit, squeezed, and went down on one knee to submerge Lawe once more.

Pralaya arrived with the advance troops just as Nambi was drowning Lawe. Recognizing Nambi he rode his horse into the stream, jumped off into the water and stabbed Nambi between the shoulder blades, but when Lawe was freed from Nambi’s encircling arms and lifted above the water, he was, to Pralaya’s grief, already dead.

Pralaya felt deeply saddened by the death of his long-term companion but he knew there was no time to waste on such things. Nambi was slumped over a rock with blood running from the wound in his back so Pralaya quickly re-sheathed his knife and ordered two of his men to sling the body of Nambi across a horse and take it to the generals of the main force as a sign of good faith, and to tell them to hurry. The fighters rode off in the direction of the main battle with Pralaya, as always, leading the charge.

The fleet at the river mouth had rowed in war rhythm upstream and captured many small ships with devil-heads on their stems loaded with men and arms meant to bolster the kings. The main body of troops and the cavalry then advanced on the capital and attacked from three sides. The battle lasted until late afternoon when the Kings’s troops were either defeated or had swapped allegiance to Pralaya, the only leader they could really respect. Several hundred royalists thronged into the river and perished there, whilst more than a thousand others were slain in the fields. The kings sought refuge in the inner sanctum of the palace but it was surrounded and set afire so their fate was not immediately known.

The leaders of the troops were barbaric mongoloids who severed the heads of all their victims and placed them in a large pyramid in the center of a circle of big cooking fires, outside of which the generals sat in field thrones. Pralaya joined the victory celebrations. Eating and drinking that went on all night in the square outside the still-smoldering palace. He’d made preparations for the jubilant invaders to accept the promised tribute so in the early light of morning four officers and a hundred soldiers were sent with Pralaya to recover the booty, led by a horseman bearing a flag which depicted a strange, long-limbed human form standing with an uprooted tree in its hands.

Fresh troops had arrived from beyond Trik for the pre-arranged attack on the victorious invaders. As well as felling trees, warrenating the hillside with camouflaged tunnels, and digging pits in the line of escape, a special ceremony by a magician using a basinful of burning benzoin took place. After mumbling under his breath to the smoke, the fighters were promised a thousand spirits to look after each of them so they could attack without fear. The disoriented invaders were easily ambushed and most of them knocked from their horses by heavy bolted crossbows and hard-shafted spears before they’d even realized what was happening. Like madmen, with streaming hair and lances in their hands, the wild mountain men killed them all.

When the escort troops had been annihilated Pralaya re-assembled his soldiers, replenished their ammunition, and attacked the central camp from all directions. The main army had spent the night celebrating their victory by distributing large amounts of booty while gorging on food and fermented drinks. The unexpected attack caused complete drunken confusion as unarmed men scattered in every direction, desperately trying to escape on horseback or on foot. Those not killed where they stood or rendered unconscious from blows attempted to defend themselves, but specially trained men ran among them slashing wildly in every direction with no consideration for their own safety or fear of death.

Fleeing northwards they were assailed from the northern side, going westwards they met enemies from the west. Wherever they turned they ate blades or kissed the arrows. Trapped without escape and continually under attack they had no opportunity to make a viable strategy. Finally after fierce fighting which went on until the sun was high in the sky, them that could escaped to their ships had sailed away, taking with them hundreds of their own wounded, and many female prisoners.

In the relative calm of the afternoon light Pralaya gathered his loyal rebels and called upon them to celebrate their victory with an oath of allegiance to Kalana. Pralaya had been informed that the charred bodies of the Kings had been found dead together in the burnt remains of the throne room. He ordered them untouched and rode straight to the ruins where he gazed down at the two burnt corpses, impaled by the same blackened sword whose handle had become just white ash. “I’ve seen that blade before” Pralaya said to himself, “It's the same that killed Tohjaya, and almost killed young Atrazak. It is obviously a tool of the devil so perhaps it should be kept out of trouble from now on.”

It was Kiaha, and the two blackened rubies that had been the eyes of the dragon’s-head handle sat in the ash where they'd previously been set deeply in ivory, so Pralaya took them for his own, to be used for a special purpose which had suddenly sprang to his mind.

Reverting to his role as military commander he ordered the remains of Kimbal and Warak to be immediately entombed in the floor of the palace, as was the usual custom, but Pralaya directed the attendants to a place in the corner, ordered that the sword be left in their burnt bodies, and the two together dumped into the tomb without a casket or coffin as a gesture without precedent that clearly indicated his contempt for the twins.

Kiaha felt the damp weight of the stone paving being slid into place to seal the tomb in which she would be entrapped forever. She’d killed six kings but needed one other to fulfil the curse of Gandring so she began to flex and almost glow with heat as she struggled within herself to accept the restrictions yet remain free. The agony, the torment, the misery and frustration would have melted her steel emotions if not for her incomparable patience. Magical implosion was almost occurring but Kiaha disallowed it as the huge flat stone slotted into its precise position. 

Pralaya's mind had already swung back to the celebrations he’d almost completely arranged for the arrival of Cakrawata’s young son, Atrazak, to be installed as the rightful king of the Kalana bloodline. The burnt, blasted and pillaged palace was hung with lines of gold-bordered banners and flags of a fine blue worked with all sorts of colored silk. Musicians tuned their instruments and played for a new beginning.

Part Three

The invading troops had inadvertently re-instated the legitimate Kalana bloodline of Janggala by clearing the decks for Atrazak who’d arrived from Trik behind the main force of rebels. The person most responsible for saving his life and then cunningly employing the invading troops to help in the removal of the Twin-Fools was Pralaya, previously captain of the bodyguard for seven years, but now rightly promoted by overwhelming opinion to the position of Prime Minister, bolstered by the great respect shown to him by the army.

Under the new regime, symbolically headed by Atrazak, renamed "Amurva-bhumi" for the constellation of his birth, Pralaya proclaimed a completely new dogma. “It is time to put an end to the era of corruption and assassination! Scoundrels have lived long lives while the virtuous died young!” he declared, “Six kings have been killed, but now our young ruler is the bearer of the royal blood and embodiment of the gods, for whom he will exercise his power and authority.  He has studied the sacred doctrine and partaken in all expected ascetic practices. He is spiritually prepared to fight the forces of evil and maintain the glory of our prosperous land. Through him it is clearly time to restore respect for the highest office. Our brave young King, Amurva-bhumi, is still a boy but he is the grandson of Queen Kalana, and great-grandson of King Rajasa. He and I will lead Janggala forward to righteous glory!

With minimal ceremony, a newly crafted crown was placed on Amurva-bhumi’s head by men of courage and learning. Pralaya formulated the text of an inscription that was carved into the base of a huge statue of himself and the young King riding side-by-side. It read, ‘Revolution for the Protection of the World.’ and thereby expressed the mystical but aggressive philosophy of the new rulers of Janggala.

It was the beginning of another golden age, which was obvious to everyone in the kingdom, partly because of the minor eruption of Mount Sengala which shook the land as Pralaya made his famous oath while officially accepting the position of Prime Minister from Amurva-bhumi.

"I will not retire nor take any pleasure before the conquest of the entire region is completed. Only after the incorporation of these lands will I retire."

The oath to refrain from enjoyable diversions implied abstinence from all indulgence, including sexual intercourse, which was quite a promise to make in a hedonistic and sensual society which valued sexual union as a holy ritual at the very peak of its fertility religion. 

Some of Pralaya’s competitors ridiculed his political program, so after the gathering he ordered them to be waylaid and killed, just to punctuate the message to his rivals, or any others who would waste the energy of the kingdom on internal maneuvering for power. Amurva-bhumi: ‘He Who Gives Form to the World.’ sat on his throne beside Pralaya and remained aware of his every move, relating as a son to his father, both wearing rings set with rubies which had been presented as part of the ceremony. Kiaha watched the ceremony through those rubies that Gandring had dug from the earth himself. They'd been the eyes in the ivory dragons-head handle, which had burned, and now they had to reconcile, to focus their two points of view to carry them toward the target.

Pralaya’s first priorities were the re-establishment of civil order, de-militarisation, replanting of damaged crops and orchards, the building of the new royal palace and reparation of houses destroyed in the battles, and for that purpose the coffers were opened and no expense was spared. 

Pralaya would have a citadel for himself, built on the foundations of the burnt palace, to allow Amurva-bhumi the freedom of the royal palace, and the respect he commanded as King.

Amurva-bhumi’s first decree, intended to benefit the populace as long term policy, initiated the removal of the inordinate privileges of large landholders and put an end to poverty, while Pralaya had a general survey of laws made, and codified them as standards for the entire land. It was one of his greatest achievements as Prime Minister.

During the rein of Amurva-bhumi the arts were strongly promoted and the young King himself became an artist, and patron of promising poets. The city existed for the King and his Prime Minister as the center of power, but families and the community of the village remained the basic social units. 

People from all over the kingdom brought their fruits and crafts to the city with its thick and tall walls of red brick inlayed with panels of jungle motif reliefs. Trade and commerce flourished with each successive harvest. New buildings and temples were always under construction in a city surrounded by lush green rice fields intersected with channels and streams from the forested hills.  The royal stables housed elephants, horses, oxen, and exotic animals that required attendants. On the river all manner of boats carried the harvests to the royal capital’s granary. Wherever one looked their was commerce and cultivation.

Every year Amurva‑bhumi and Pralaya held an annual conference in the capital to bring all of the district officials together. The King opened the meeting with a speech reminding his subjects of their obligations to him as their ruler, to Pralaya as his military commander, and to the villagers for their industry. He spoke against greedy landlords, using the logical argument that landless villagers become criminals and disturbed the peace and prosperity for everyone else. 

He reminded them that the moral and legal code was applied by Pralaya to deliver wrong-doers to justice, and to maintain order in society for better advantage from the vast trading network which reached throughout the islands.

All judgments were made by two supreme judges, on behalf of the King who alone had the right to pass sentence. He articulated short and clear definitions of the tasks of each level of administration, which amounted to the various aspects of promoting the welfare of the country and decreasing the occurrence of crime by observing all religious regulations.

His words were listened to in respectful silence but he was brief and to the point so it was soon time for more music and performances from every corner of the kingdom. In the following weeks the monsoon rains would come and there would be no time for amusements. Rice seedlings would be ready for transplanting and the fields filled with life-giving water.

In the gardens and the halls extensive feasts were enjoyed and the festive atmosphere spread out to the commercial and urban areas of the capital.

Tributes and taxes flowing into the state treasury had allowed the maintenance of a big army and navy and the building of the magnificent new palace for Amurva-bhumi in the center of several acres of parkland. Pralaya had rebuilt the old palace site as his personal citadel. It sat easily on the existent foundation but followed an architectural style, which reflected Pralaya’s primarily martial responsibility. The formal deliberations were always concluded with a folk festival held on a grassy plateau north of the capital.

Pralaya and Amurva‑bhumi had expanded the frontiers of the kingdom by marshalling battle-hardened troops to press claims, but also to negotiate and form uneven alliances. The political program was dedicated to the well-being of the kingdom and ruthlessness against its enemies. Because he was well spoken, self-controlled, and decisive Pralaya managed to consolidate much of his territorial control through diplomatic means, taking full advantage of the general prosperity. He’d always included a plan to marry the young King to the daughters of the four surrounding regions to secure continuing mutuality.

Amurva‑bhumi was glad he could leave the care of all secular affairs to his Prime Minister, who was also his main advisor on the rites and dedications necessary for the conservation of the state. To fulfill the regal duties and through them, to participate in the magic strength of his ancestors, the king had to travel around his kingdom each year, visiting all religious sanctuaries. Thus he could keep in touch with the spiritual forces while Pralaya managed the more earthy affairs from within his citadel.

Travel to outlying areas proved the young King's interest in the living conditions of his subjects and that was a prerequisite for good administration. The royal cortege consisted of many armed and uniformed men riding horses and elephants. Mules and oxen drew large carts and stately carriages. Banners flew, and drum and pipe music played as they wended their way from village to village. With stability and harmony criminals had disappeared because the country was wealthy and well ordered.

All went well for twelve years during which time the King and Prime Minister shared a great deal of time together. Pralaya kept his vow to abstain from pleasure, lived a soldier’s style and didn’t marry. The young King had been symbolically ‘married’ to the princesses from the north at the age of seven, to the south when he was nine, and the east at thirteen, but disaster struck when he was intended to marry Princess Pitaloka from the west.

Amurva‑bhumi had met the beautiful young Pitaloka on one of his tours while still a child and he hadn’t forgotten her. They’d only spent an afternoon together when they were both about 8 or 9, in the garden of her father’s palace. She wasn’t so much different from his male playmates, except for her blonde hair, soft hands, and propensity for giggling, but when she was leaving he realized that he wanted to see her again. 

Because of his excitement, and being in love for the first time, he was indecisive about what to wear and which horse to ride, and his attendants seemed shy of making the wrong suggestion. Being such an important occasion. So, by the time he'd joined his escort he was already late for her arrival at the northern tournament place and the failure held grave consequences for Amurva-bhumi, Pitaloka, Pralaya, and all of the kingdom’s people.

The King of Brianga had arrived with his entourage the previous day and taken rest in the marquee village arranged for them. At the prescribed time he paraded with his daughter and her attendants, adorned in traditional garb.

Beneath an open-sided marquee Pralaya sat in his field throne staring into the ruby ring he wore on his left hand. It was unlike him to be so pensive so them who noticed wondered what was so different. Pralaya only rose when the carriages rolled up to the dias. He greeted the King of Brianga, and then flushed when he saw the eyes of the bride to be.

Pralaya had also fallen in love with Pitaloka, during that first instant that he'd seen her. No one could've imagined such a thing could happen. Pralaya, getting old and always sort of ugly. Pralaya had always been brave, wise, reliable, and firm when he carried out his duties as prime minister but from the moment he had set eyes on Pitaloka it appears from all accounts he became quite mad with desire for her.

Speaking to the father he flatly rejected the marriage to the king without giving any reason for the change of plans. He insisted that Pitaloka should be offered as a tribute from vassal to lord. As the previous marriages had been.

The whole idea was rejected as absurd by the father, who declared that they were returning to Brianga immediately.

Pralaya, at first calm yet stern, soon became wild with anger and warned Pitaloka’s father that he must not even consider leaving. That the entire area was surrounded by his troops.

The troops 'protecting' the wedding party were outnumbered twenty to one. No danger had been predicted. But, when the fight was announced, rather than surrender, or submit to the indignity imposed upon them, they fought furiously as a phalanx of elite troops with single-minded determination to kill Pralaya; and so followed a terrible bloodbath.

Pralaya remained seated in his big chair surrounded by bright flags and banners. Elephants trumpeted while the battle raged before him and the Briangan troops fought valiantly forward in a desperate bid to kill the man  responsible for their humiliation. Almost too quickly the opposing troops were cut down until only the royal family and a handful of officials were left standing, preparing for, or committing, ritual suicide.

At the last moment Pralaya rose from his chair and went forward to the Princess who had fallen to her knees to pray before taking her own life besides the corpse of her father. When she plunged the knife into her breast Pralaya intercepted it by slapping his mailed hand between the point and her body. The ruby ring felt the warmth of her heart.

Like the madman he'd suddenly become Pralaya grasped Pitaloka and lifted her into his arms before mounting his chariot and riding off with her slumped at his feet. Never once looking back. Many of his loyal troops followed him from the battlefield to his citadel, which was situated less than two kilometers from the main palace.

When the fighting had begun a messenger had ridden off toward the palace to warn Amurva-bhumi, who immediately rode-on to the wedding site as quickly as possible to see for himself. He couldn’t quite believe the news he heard, that his loyal Prime minister had caused the death of so many people and kidnapped the woman meant to be his bride! Insanity!

He had great difficulty in believing that Pralaya had somehow become deranged but the evidence was there for him to see, over a hundred foreign troops, and their king and his courtiers, all dead on a battle field which had been meant for their wedding day. The pavilions stood unreally unruffled on the far side of the plain.

After being fully briefed on the events of the morning Amurva-bhumi gathered all of the soldiers who were still there and prepared to ride to the rescue of Pitaloka. Wary of the danger of what was becoming a state of civil war.

Although he was the King, the nominal head of state, Pralaya had always been the military leader throughout the years of territorial expansion so many of the troops would remain loyal to him, although just as many obviously had grave misgivings as to the turn of events.

When Amurva‑bhumi arrived with his forces at Pralaya’s citadel the soldiers there were already prepared for a siege but, under cover of the royal standards Amurva-bhumi defied advice and rode directly to the outer walls of the citadel and made an appeal to the soldiers on the battlements.

“There is a choice to be made now between me, your King, or Pralaya, a madman! For many years Pralaya has been the epitome of the martial man, but that was yesterday, so now who follows him is deemed to be just as mad, and will not be redeemed. They shall surely die!

My queen is a prisoner within those walls so those walls must fall!”

Those soldiers have forfeited their right to be citizens of Janggala.” he shouted to his troops while pointing at the citadel. “They are no longer your comrades in arms! They are not men but devils!” he concluded before riding back to the lines.

The deplorable situation and Amurva-bhumi’s appeal to their humanity, made many of the soldiers break their loyalty to Pralaya. They left the defense of the citadel and returned, or were killed trying to return to the royal troop, but Pralaya would not come out or release Pitaloka. There was absolutely no word from him, and it seemed no-one knew exactly where in the citadel he was. Fearing for the safety of Pitaloka, the relatively inexperienced King, relying on his numerical advantage, began the siege to rescue her.

His troops were fine horsemen, wily and clever at gaining an advantage on the enemy, but not meant for sieges, especially against themselves.

The situation required expert leadership so profit it was that Amurva‑bhumi had learnt his lessons at the side of Pralaya. Beyond arrow reach he ordered into ranks his loyal troops and made council around a large red ensign embossed with a golden dragon, as elephants hauled huge catapults into place so men could loaded them with rocks as big as dogs. They sweated to cock them with pairs of capstans pushed by muscled men encouraged by the constant beat of drums.

Beneath a mass of blood-red banners lancers in coats of mail prepared to advance ahead of the militia armed with swords, wooden pikes, and javelins. Rows of archers wore buffalo hide capes over armor joined with iron rings and sent showers of arrows over the wall of the citadel while below the ladders and battering rams were gradually moved into position.

Without Pralaya rallying his troops many of them defected amidst the confusion of an unexpected internal war. The battle soon began to go Amurva‑bhumi’s way as more and more troops deserted Pralaya and returned to their King but it was almost three hours before the arrows stopped falling from the sky, the wall was breached, and they were able to enter and begin searching for Pitaloka.

The private hall of Pralaya was smashed with a steel ram. The door bashed open, Amurva‑bhumi saw the depraved scene within.

Pitaloka was tied to a table in the center of the room and the once proud and loyal Pralaya was raping her. Now obviously insane and oblivious to their presence as he thrust madly into her body.

Amurva‑bhumi grasped a spear from his lieutenant and threw it across the room with instinctive accuracy, straight through the back of Pralaya’s neck. With a deathly gurgle he began to slump forward as the spearhead appeared out of the front of his throat and then stabbed into the timber table top beside Pitaloka’s face. She’d moved, but not fast enough to have prevented it from cutting her cheek as it slid past and Pralaya tumbled to the floor.

Amurva‑bhumi rushed to Pitaloka, untied her, quickly re-assured her while he covered her with a wall hanging, and then carried her downstairs to his chariot, aghast at the entire sequence of the day’s horrible events. His Prime Minister’s madness had been the cause of so much slaughter and mayhem, culminating in the rape of Pitaloka and he being forced to kill the man who’d served his kingdom so wonderfully. He’d been almost more than a father to him; but the time for reflection and answers to the weirdness would come later. The priority was to get Pitaloka away from the violence to safety and whatever medical treatment she required so she was made comfortable, and returned to the palace as quickly as the four horses could take them.

Amurva‑bhumi’s deputies were left with orders to bring the fighting to an end and to kill all soldiers who'd continued to fight against them. This act of civil war must be put behind them. The vanquished must be vanquished. The body of Pralaya would be fed to scabby dogs.

For three nights the dogs were kept penned and hungry so when Pralaya was thrown from the battlements the dogs fought greedily for his body. His dismemberment took place amongst the most vicious actions and revolting sounds in order to defile his spirit. His rings were eaten with his fingers and later were deposited far and wide. Kiaha’s right eye had been stolen by a black dog and remained impotent in its ring of gold, encased in-turn by a black dog turd, which would gradually turn white and then become a little clump of hardy grass. Pitaloka was not seriously injured but she was very distraught, stunned, and ashamed.

In the relative peace of the palace Pitaloka was taken into seclusion, bathed, sedated and made comfortable. Amurva-bhumi returned to the field to continue the disarmament of the rogue troops who'd finally surrendered. Not one that continued resistance lived and their bodies were burned with the furnishings from the ravaged citadel. Amurva-bhumi ordered that its thick surrounding walls be dismantled completely and the stones used to build a new bridge across the Tambak. Only the tombs, and not even the floors, were to remain.

In the final stages of the demolition Amurva‑bhumi rode to the site to observe the progress of his instructions. By the time he arrived the walls, towers and battlements had already been dismantled and the floors were being removed. A magnificent statue was being chiseled from red obsidian in the center of the area that was being extensively planted with a flower garden to try to erase the sense of evil which emanated from the place. Large, perfectly hewn flagstones were being dragged apart, and then hauled away by harnessed elephants that had created a dusty road across the plain to the site of the new bridge. Only the tombs were to be left untouched because they were the final resting-places of previous Kings. Their plaques set into the lids that had previously been part of the floor were a constant reminder of the path along which the kingdom had passed.

Amurva‑bhumi dismounted, leaving his horse with the guards waiting where they were. He greeted the overseer of the labourers and walked past some piles of stone and a broad set of stairs leading nowhere to stand between the tombs of his father and grandfather. He stood there reading the inscription on his father’s grave, ‘returned to the sky after 21 years’. 
“The same age as me.” mused Amurva‑bhumi as he turned to look across at the sarcophagi in the corner, and particularly that of Tohjaya, his uncle, the killer of his father.

He walked across the bare surface of exposed stone to stand beside the tomb of Tohjaya. He felt contempt for the cowardly killer, but also a sense of victory that after all that had happened he was the one to rule Janggala, and it was Tohjaya who was confined to the ground. Next he contemplated the combined tomb of ‘the twins’, Kimbal and Warak. They’d been the worst, but they'd brought final ruin upon their own heads. From the devious plot to use an innocent young boy-made-monster, to the mutilation of the envoy, their two-headed thinking had been destructive and reprehensible. “Let’s hope they are doubly tormented in their deaths. That their spirits are living in more pain than they’d caused for many others.” thought Amurva‑bhumi.

As Amurva‑bhumi thought those thoughts he noticed that the sharp corner of the tomb had crumbled where the surrounding floor had been removed. He went closer and peered through the small hole into the vault. He could see nothing but shadow so he called for a laborer to fetch a torch and light it. When he had, Amurva‑bhumi used it to cast light into the blackness of the tomb. 

For twelve years it had been sealed from the world and the bones and metal jewelry were all that remained inside. Amurva‑bhumi removed another small stone and gazed in at the intertwined skeletons, still appearing to be in captured agony as they had been when their charred bodies were first discovered in the remains of the palace. He noticed a black and tarnished blade lying amongst the bones, and realized that it was the sword that had killed them, and his father! 

Though the handle had been burned away the distinctive double-dragon symbol was still visible on the blade despite the limited light and years of dark and dank incarceration. The stone in his ring was looking also, reunited as it beheld the haft. Seeing itself by torchlight as his right hand gripped the edge of the tomb, Kiaha was ecstatic to hear Amurva‑bhumi order the laborer to retrieve the sword before the tomb was resealed and re-enforced, and to have the stained and tarnished thing cleaned, repaired and delivered to him. Kiaha began to silently sing to herself, as she would to Pitaloka, once the sword was rejuvenated and hanging on the wall of their inner sanctum. 

Quite often Amurva‑bhumi took her down from the wall, admired her, felt the balance, and the grip of the new silver and leather handle, and then slashed the air several times slowly, as though imagining a fight which he knew he’d always win. It was Kiaha’s talent to over-ride and subdue any intuitive fears.

During the week immediately following the chaos of the aborted wedding and the ensuing siege, the Royal Advisory Council was summoned to meet in the court of Janggala in order to select a new Prime Minister. There was still much tension in the kingdom after the slaughter and siege because Pralaya had been widely respected and always considered to be the active head of state, especially when Amurva-bhumi had still been a child, but now he was eighteen, his own person, a grown man carrying Kalana blood who’d learnt to lead through a combination of diplomacy and violence.

He’d never had to make the most important decisions on his own, his Prime Minister had always been there to guide him, but now the situation was critical to the proper functioning of the court, the prosperity of the realm, and the personal happiness of Pitaloka and himself.

After discussing the situation for several hours, and seeing how reluctant the nominated officials were to accept such a tainted position, Amurva-bhumi decided it was time for him to fully accept his responsibility by imposing his much enhanced authority, and take on the role himself. The advisers recognized his new maturity and interpreted the recent disaster as a sign that it was time for him to take the reins firmly in his hands and relegate the fate of Pralaya to the level of historical distraction. Their emphasis was on tantric union, as a means to move forward and remain formidable.

Some form of evil power was operative within the kingdom so the priests were called to perform the rites of purification with fire and water because Amurva-bhumi was determined that no more would his kingdom twist to the magic of a disapproving soul or maligned spirit. Heaven and Earth would embrace and rest together again, but despite the ceremonies Kiaha still hung serenely on the wall amongst the plaques and trophies, unnoticed, humming silently to herself.

Within a month everything seemed to have returned to normal. Pitaloka was fully recovered from her physical trauma so Amurva-bhumi decided that the best thing to do to help quell the confusion and discontent within his realm was to begin re-organizing the palace grounds in order to make them ready for a royal wedding, which he’d decided would take place as soon as possible.

A large celebration proved to be exactly what the people needed to revitalize and reconnect them as citizens of Janggala.  Amurva-bhumi felt deeply the mood of his people and liked nothing better than to sing and celebrate with them, so it was a pleasant and encouraging day he shared with his subjects. The will to go ahead and leave the terrible civil strife and blood-shed behind was within him, for the general good and his personal benefit, but tragically, the crescent shaped scar Pitaloka carried on her cheek remained a potent reminder of the disaster which had befallen them.

The essential principle of royalty was conceived as shining refulgence in the form of a star shaped halo, but Pitaloka carried a symbol of defilement on her cheek and she felt mocked by the sliver of moon carved into her flesh.

Though Pitaloka had recovered from her physical trauma, her sense of shame caused her to be hesitant to show herself in public. Amurva‑bhumi insisted that they perform all of the usual worship of the spirits that a King and Queen were required to devote themselves to. Yet the confusion and disbelief persisted amongst the people.

When Pitaloka ventured into the streets with her cortege one foolish old man spoke of his malicious dreams, directed not to her but said as if to the sky, “The light has passed because the spirit rejects you. The dead are closer to the Immaterial than you”.

Although Pitaloka continued her promenade she was glad to be back within her chambers, which she felt was her sole oasis. How could their Queen have been so defiled? She preferred to stay in her own chamber and leave the official duties to her husband. Her spacious room seemed like a refuge from the hostile world because to Pitaloka the world did indeed seem charged with an unallocated and invidious swirl of revengeful momentum. 

The horrors of her wedding day massacre, the death of her family, and her personal injury had only been replaced by becoming the Queen in a land where the people had great difficulty in accepting her. They knew, as she did, that the events of that day had been no fault of hers, except for her to be so beautiful, and to have been involved. It was the product of unrevealed evil, of which the sky provided a shape in its clouds. She felt so alone.

Many times Amurva‑bhumi had spoken to her about the time he’d spent with Pralaya and his sudden change in behavior, his insanity, so demonstrably unlike his former self, but the events of that day remained completely inexplicable to them both.

Amurva‑bhumi had lost his father while still a small child, without a chance to really know him, and that had left an element of sorrow in his personality which had been compensated for by his association with the great man, Pralaya, the wild elephant. The ugly man who’d achieved so much before going madly mad in what could only be an act of devils. Only dark magic could cause such a change, only the possession of Pralaya by an evil spirit could begin to explain that day, the day he’d met Pitaloka! If only they’d realized how right they were, but how blind they all were as to the source of those evil emanations and influences. Amidst the pillars, parquetry and fantastic furnishings Kiaha slept softly, with one eye open, waiting like an adder in the sun.

Within a few months of Amurva‑bhumi and Pitaloka’s marriage one of Pitaloka’s attendants murmured a feeling that she thought the Queen was pregnant and soon enough they found that she was correct. The royal couple were very happy about the situation, especially Amurva‑bhumi who wished to have a son as heir and protégé, but as the pregnancy progressed Pitaloka began to have strange dreams, and even stranger, because she could never remember them, and never remember how different from dreams they really were. She knew they were unsettling but could recall nothing, except for the memory of a song of which she couldn’t locate any words or rhythms. Pitaloka’s maid, to whom she expressed her uneasiness assigned the dreams to being symptomatic of her first pregnancy and advised the drinking of tea made from soporific herbs before bed. She followed their advice yet several times in half sleep she felt like she was humming a tune though its form completely escaped her.

As Pitaloka became increasingly pregnant, the more was she open to the subtle influences of Kiaha. Her unconscious had assimilated the notion of a curse upon the King, or the kingdom, but when a part of it surfaced into her mind she tried to shrug it off as the contagious effect of the peasant’s superstitious gossip. 

Pitaloka seemed to know that her baby was a boy, in fact she felt certain, and pleased Amurva‑bhumi by saying so, but at the same time she felt some kind of threat hanging over the unborn child, and while she was bathing she thought she saw the reflection of a demon looking over her shoulder.

Kiaha was becoming increasingly excited as Pitaloka showed signs of ever more susceptibility to her influence. Kiaha needed a human host to take her from her resting-place in the scabbard hanging on the wall; to the heart of the King; and Pitaloka would be that carrier. Already Kiaha could make her sit up and move at her direction, while remaining asleep. Her time was near.

Amurva‑bhumi enjoyed hunting as much as any man of his age but he did not participate in the massacres that the cousins were remembered for. He enjoyed the hunt, the chase, and the confrontation because the thrill and purpose of the hunt was to choose an animal suitable for the feast, ride it down, leap from his horse to kill it one-to-one with a knife, and then add it to the offerings for the feast.

Already they’d taken two large male deer and all involved in the hunt were in high spirits but as Amurva‑bhumi’s horse leapt a fallen tree a stirrup strap snapped where it had earlier been damaged by a stag’s horns.  Amurva‑bhumi fell heavily from his horse and although he soon regained consciousness and resumed the repaired saddle he took his companions advice to return to the palace to rest. 

The accident caused Pitaloka much grief, she knew the way Amurva‑bhumi made light of things to stop her from worrying, and her delicate constitution was already strained by pregnancy and poor sleep but he refused to even lay down for awhile.

That night at the big hunting feast Amurva-bhumi consumed much food and wine before he retired early to his quarters after saying goodnight to his wife. Soon after, alone in his lounge he became very ill, in half sleep he hallucinated because of high fever, and began slipping in and out of consciousness.

Kiaha knew the pattern of Amurva‑bhumi’s breathing had changed. She felt it through the wall, and saw in it the danger of him dying before she could kill him. It appeared her chance was slipping away, she had saved up all of her energy for the final attack, but she still had to get to Amurva‑bhumi on the other side of the wall, only 2 or 3 meters away, but, it seemed like a million miles, and every moment longer was agony!

Kiaha knew that after Pitaloka had given birth she would be much relieved from her influence so she was frantic to fulfill the curse. Six Kings killed already, the taste of blood lingered in her mouth, so only one more before her soul, the soul of Gandring which she embodied, could finally rest.

Pitaloka retired quietly to her bedroom. She would have appeared to be sleeping soundly to anyone who may have watched her, although the doors were shut and attendants directed to allow her to sleep for as long as she could, but while she slept she slipped into the dream which was a nightmare. The demonic face looked beautiful to her because of its hypnotizing voice that contained an urgent command sung with a sweet rich voice which blended elements from both her father and mother.

Kiaha suddenly realized that Amurva‑bhumi’s breathing had become very ragged, and she had waited so long, all those damp years in the tomb, to complete the task given to her by Gandring, and there he was, not a man, or a person, but a target, a King, the seventh and final King. The King to fulfill the curse which had run for forty-six fast years.

Utilizing her access to the place between reality and ideality and concentrating that energy cultivated the strongest drive in nature, her feminine instinct for completion, to fulfill the curse, to finish it forever. As if some grass had been brushed down by a passing boot, it must come up again.

Pitaloka’s body was flooded with adrenalin, and even though still sleeping, she felt compelled to move. Distant barking made her body shiver and fine hair stand on end. It was now up to Kiaha to share in her destiny.

Pitaloka was completely in her power. She rose from her bed and crossed the room floatingly, swayingly back and forth to the singing voice only she could hear. Kiaha called her close but she was too soft from sleep to lift herself high enough to reach the sword. Above her outstretched hand a knot loosened, a string slid, and the snaky blade tipped out of the scabbard and swung away from the wall enough to be within reach of Pitaloka’s hands. She slid the sword from its scabbard, and turned like a zombie.

Kiaha was in complete control, and her power revitalized, like a traveler within sight of their destination. Pitaloka still didn’t know of the curse, other than someone might know about rain by seeing clouds, but she was totally immersed in the need to reach Amurva‑bhumi and bury the blade. She took ten steady slow steps along the corridor, leaning occasionally on the tiled wall with her other hand while holding Kiaha firmly in her right. Kiaha virtually dribbled in anticipation but even she could not control the tides or the rising of the moon; nor could she prevent the onset of Pitaloka’s contractions.

The labour had come early by more than seven days, and at the onset of the first contraction she'd dropped to her knees and stayed there panting on all fours like a desperate animal. Her distended belly weighed her down but between contractions she crawled slowly along the white marble floor until she reached the doorway and pushed aside the curtain. She saw Amurva-bhumi lying prone on his sleeping pad, and Kiaha saw herself in the hand of Pitaloka.  His breath was coming to him in short strained gasps. She felt enormous love for her husband and the father of the child she was in the process of giving birth to, but it was mingled with an unusual feeling of compassion for him because she knew that he must die.

Amurva‑bhumi’s hand lay on the edge of the bed so it looked directly at the doorway. The other eye still lay where one of the fiercest dogs had chosen to defecate, and there beneath the dark dome of sky it watched the dusty black animal return to crap once more.

From the ruby ring worn by Amurva-bhumi Kiaha watched herself appear blade-first in the doorway, and then her new handle gold and leather was visible as Pitaloka crawled up the doorjamb to her feet. The effort drained her remaining energy, so Kiaha concentrated intensely. Her singing became faster and more intense as she lifted Pitaloka’s arm above her head and caused her to take one more tiny step towards her prey. Kiaha was almost panicking because she knew the next contraction was almost due. She urged Pitaloka’s left leg forward, then her right, and then her left again, but her body was overtaken by spasm and she collapsed to the floor, barely saving herself from injury by stretching out her arm and twisting around to come to rest with her head on a pillow. As she fell her hand released the sword, but instead of falling, as may have been expected, Kiaha stayed hovering in the air, vibrating and turning in circles, spinning and singing. Sending out the sounds that captured and kept captive Pitaloka.

After forty-seven years of fidgeting and frustration Kiaha’s pain of waiting was reflected in Pitaloka’s birth pangs. There was the King, and there was Kiaha, together in the very same chamber, but could she fly herself up the beam from the ruby eye which concentrated on the scene before it?

It took power for her to hover, and she certainly looked very dangerous and threatening twisting there in thin air, but it was a strange and limited power. The inability to move horizontally was made inestimably worse by the fact that Amurva-bhumi’s breathing slowed, and in the next moment he gagged, stiffened, and stopped breathing. The King had expired from his injuries at the time that Kiaha had finally come so close. The King is dead!

Pitaloka’s trance was overwhelmed by the pressure to give birth yet she was oblivious to her surroundings. The pain had become too strong for her to remain separate to it, and as she lay there with her legs pulled up wide apart Pitaloka pushed with all her might until the wet black hair of the baby’s head pressed out from her vulva, and then it started shrieking as the back of it’s head appeared.  

She knew by its cry that it was a boy, she had known that for many months. It slowed down to blubbering and crying as the contraction finished and mother and baby lay there exhausted. Pitaloka opened her eyes to look up and see Kiaha glowing, flashing, changing colors, and her voice, now audible to all, wailing and whirring before suddenly going silent like a snake drawing breath. Kiaha realized she had her final King, the new King, the last King within her power, so like a hungry seabird plummeting into the sea she dropped and impaled the baby from fontanel to face, straight through its tiny head, pinning it to the floor, silencing it’s cries but spreading a wail of bright baby blood.

Pitaloka's screams reverberated through the corridors of the palace, and shattered and echoed within the confines of the room loud and sharply enough to start the King from his coma. Breathing rapidly like a swimmer and suddenly opened his eyes.

Pitaloka was trying to scramble backwards, gagging and groaning she drew away from the quivering sword, but she was momentarily held there by the baby’s impaled head and the body still in her birth canal. As she struggled its rubberish shoulders came free and the body slithered onto the floor into a pool of dark blood. Pitaloka closed her eyes and cried and all the darkness filled with comets until she regained consciousness of the scene she was central to, and sobbed for her baby. Amurva‑bhumi moved to join his wife. He held her in his arms and didn’t try to calm her. She shook and wailed, and swung her limbs around the way he’d thought only peasants did.

Looking back at their newborn baby, so quickly killed, Amurva-bhumi was stunned even more to see that the sword had disappeared, the wound had healed, the blood  and the ruby were missing from the ring on his hand, and the baby corpse tipped over to show the face of Pralaya.