Page 28 of The Prince Without Sorrow

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ashoka

N AILA TOOK HIM TO A WASTELAND TO BURY S AUMYA’S BODY.

Even a fool could guess where they had trekked to. Rubble and dust, mud and giant footprints marred the landscape. If there had been buildings here before, it was hard to see them now. Wood was splintered, stones half crushed into a fine powder, and the ribcages of long-deceased farm animals jutted from the ground in gruesome bouquets. Everything within view was damaged.

These were the razed lands that the Great Spirits destroyed every single night. Even a distinct change in the air was noticeable, mud and decomposing food with a slight undertone of sulphur.

For the duration of their journey, Naila was silent, and Ashoka made no move to converse with her. He sensed that she needed to be in her own thoughts. Having to carry around her friend’s body and head was cruel enough. Forcing her to speak at the same time would be brutal.

Unlike the remainder of Taksila, this land was unoccupied by soldiers. Even in the dingiest streets of its poorest district, they had skulked about. Humans were notably absent where malevolent Great Spirits wandered.

Naila took a path that cut straight through the rubble. It made him nervous. The land around them was open, the north bordered by mountains. An image came in his head, one of nature spirits emerging out of the forestland, their fury directed right at him. They charged like leopards, intent on ripping him apart, bone by bone, while Naila watched gleefully.

He shook his head, irate. These were remnants of his father’s tales of caution. Ashamed by his own distrust, Ashoka pushed those thoughts away. He had no reason to doubt Naila. Not yet.

His back was starting to ache from carrying Saumya’s body for what seemed to be an eternity, so Ashoka was relieved when they finally stopped at the very outskirts of the ravaged lands, just where destruction met nature. Even here, there was decay; the plants appeared wilted, trees leafless with bark shedding like a dog’s fur in the summer months.

‘You can leave her here,’ Naila said. Her voice still sounded hoarse, as if the back of her throat had been scratched.

Careful not to cause more damage, Ashoka gently placed the body down on the ground, angling his head upward as far as possible so as not to have the slashed neck hit the underside of his chin. When he stood back up, he found Naila observing him.

‘All this time has passed and yet I remain alive,’ she remarked.

‘You keep expecting me to kill you,’ he replied, a little frustrated. ‘I won’t.’

‘I see,’ she said. Then, ‘I’m curious, Prince Ashoka. Why were you wandering about in the middle of the night? Without your royal guard, no less.’

‘I wanted to observe the razed lands,’ he replied. ‘I can only assume that crucial information would be kept a secret from me in order to make the city appear pleasing.’

‘Mayakari killings aren’t kept secret,’ Naila said sharply.

‘That I know,’ he replied. ‘I was referring to the nature spirit rampages. I want to put an end to them; see this city at peace.’

Naila let out a laugh. In that moment, she seemed like his siblings, intent on doubting him at every turn. ‘How rich,’ she said once her laughter subsided. ‘A Maurya trying to fix what a Maurya has broken.’

‘I heard one of the soldiers before they killed Saumya,’ he said gently. He needed to make sure Naila did not take his next remark under suspicion. ‘You are part of the resistance?’

The effect was immediate. Naila’s head snapped up so fast he thought she would get whiplash. She eyed him like he was a tiger peering through foliage, waiting for its prey. At that moment, Ashoka wondered if he’d made a mistake. ‘Is that a question or an accusation?’

‘A question,’ he replied. ‘It would benefit me greatly if this were true.’

He could sense that her guard was back up again. ‘I knew it. False niceties. I will not—’

‘I need the help of the resistance,’ he interrupted before she could spiral into a typhoon of distrust. Spirits. He should have brought Harini with him. ‘I cannot imagine that I can stop the nature spirit rampages without them.’

‘You... want our help ?’ Each word was enunciated with a progressive degree of scepticism.

‘Given the circumstances, I understand why this would be hard to digest,’ said Ashoka. ‘But I think we can both agree that the Great Spirits are a problem. Understanding why they are behaving this way and stopping them would be of great benefit to everyone.’

Realization dawned on the young witch’s face. ‘You want to meet our leader.’

The moon hung lower in the sky than he had seen it last time. He could not stay any longer; Sachith would either be having a heart attack or preparing to send out a search party. Neither were favourable outcomes.

‘Believe my intent to right my father’s wrongs,’ he implored. ‘I want to help.’

‘ No .’

No hesitation; the rejection was swift and cutting.

‘The Great Spirits keep—’

‘We know what the Great Spirits do, Prince Ashoka,’ Naila’s voice turned hard. ‘Despite what you believe, we are trying to solve this problem. The resistance doesn’t need your help. You’ll be as useless as the governor.’

And what aid could you possibly give , was the question left unsaid.

Ashoka faltered. Without another mayakari to back him, this reckless plea had been in vain. He needed to have the resistance trust him and he’d been foolish enough to assume that carrying a body would be the way to earn it. But that was hardly likely, not when the cause of death was because Adil Maurya and his propaganda had decreed it.

‘What is the governor doing?’ he asked, trying to ignore her jab but the insult stung more than he thought it would. That was how she saw him?

‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘That’s the problem. He doesn’t understand that the more he plunders forestland for ironwood, the more he risks aggravating the Great Spirit that resides there. He’ll turn the northern forests into a wasteland, same as this.’

Mentioning Governor Kosala seemed to cause a shift in Naila’s mood. Whatever good will she had shown him before seemed to vanish. ‘You should leave,’ she said quietly. ‘Go back to your estate and pretend to govern. Spirits know that Kosala does.’

Ashoka had the awareness to not probe her further. He needed another way to contact the resistance, but perhaps this would alter Naila’s perception of him. Ashoka Maurya, acquiescing to a mayakari’s orders, leaving her alone in the forestland, not having harmed her. Not every step had to be a big one.

‘What will you do with your friend’s body?’ he asked before turning to leave.

Naila’s answering smile was a sad one. ‘What else is there in life for us, Prince Ashoka?’ she said. ‘We burn.’

Three days later, Ashoka ordered a ban on mayakari burnings and temporarily halted ironwood logging in the north. Naila’s words had haunted him till his return to the royal estate.

What else is there in life for us?

He’ll turn the northern forests into a wasteland.

If such senseless deforestation would lead to another set of Great Spirits being angered, he was all too glad to halt the process. Claiming to Arush that this was part of his plan to rectify the situation without the mayakari resistance had enough merit to pacify his brother’s suspicions. As far as good economic decisions went, it wasn’t one. But better that Arush and Aarya enjoy knowing he was making mistakes than indirectly helping the mayakari.

Ashoka expected blowback from Governor Kosala, who wasted no time in making his feelings known. Days after his proposal came into effect, he was informed by one of the estate staff that the governor requested an audience.

‘Governor Kosala,’ Ashoka greeted as the man strode into his father’s study. He was in the middle of drafting a summary of events to be sent to Arush. ‘In a hurry, are we?’

Governor Kosala’s face was schooled into a mask of cool detachment. His gold rings were thick and gaudy, studded with a ridiculous number of gemstones – a sure sign of a man with new money. ‘Prince Ashoka,’ he bowed, ‘your order to interrupt ironwood logging – I must ask you to reconsider it.’

‘Why?’

‘I understand that you are still young,’ the governor replied, his voice patronizing, ‘so you may not grasp the consequences yet, Prince Ashoka. When you halt work, you halt the people. They do not get paid. No payment means no food on their table. No ironwood means less revenue. It is a never-ending cascade.’

‘Let me paint you another scenario, governor,’ Ashoka remarked, adopting the same tone. ‘More deforestation without appeasement rites means more risk of angering the Great Spirit. More angry spirits mean assured destruction of natural resources. Destruction of natural resources means further limiting areas to procure ironwood. In this scenario, workers will still be unable to work; the timeline to it is simply longer. I’m delaying destruction. Work can be redirected elsewhere.’

Kosala grimaced. ‘We can always find new forestland,’ he said. ‘Appeasement rites aren’t necessary.’

‘Then, are you willing to run your city into the ground?’

The governor did not respond. Instead, he fixed Ashoka with an inscrutable gaze.

‘I heard the most interesting tale,’ the governor said, finally.

Setting aside his ink-dipped stylus, Ashoka folded his arms neatly on the table. ‘Do tell, governor,’ he replied. ‘I love stories.’

Perhaps the governor missed his sarcasm, for his eyes flashed with a sly mirth. ‘One of my soldiers has informed me that they ran into you close to the north-western district a few nights ago,’ he replied. Ashoka sensed that the governor was watching him carefully, waiting for him to show a sign of fear. ‘From what I have been told, you saved a mayakari. I do hope this was nothing but a fanciful tale.’

Plastering on a nonchalant expression, Ashoka leaned back against his chair. ‘What of it?’ he asked.

Kosala’s eyes widened. ‘I... what of it ?’

‘Has ageing made you hard of hearing, governor?’

‘The mayakari resistance are a nuisance, Prince Ashoka,’ the governor protested. ‘We try to build new roads throughout the districts – they order the spirits to grow weeds over them. We attempt to gain access to any remaining forestland with ironwood – they send spirits to guard them. We have no choice but to respond in kind.’

‘By having soldiers execute them?’ Ashoka asked in blunt tones. ‘I would hardly call that equal retaliation.’

Kosala sounded genuinely curious when he asked, ‘If not burning, what else will you have them do, Prince Ashoka?’

‘Nothing,’ Ashoka replied. ‘They should be left alone.’

Kosala raised an eyebrow. ‘The whispers are true, then,’ he remarked.

Whispers . As if his ideals were not so obviously an open book lying in wait for someone to read. Ashoka had never made any attempt to align himself with his father, and those who worked in the palace knew it. If the staff knew it, everyone else in the empire would know it.

‘Brand me a mayakari sympathizer if you must, Kosala, but Taksila is now under my governorship,’ he replied coolly. Rahil’s face flashed in his mind, urging him to keep calm as he spoke. ‘My promise to my brother was to right the problems here. To do that, I need to work with methods you consider to be unorthodox. And rest assured that if these targeted murders continue, you will be the first to feel my wrath.’

Unused to making threats, Ashoka felt like an imposter; a child playing villain. Unfortunately, his threat didn’t have the effect he had hoped on Kosala, for his face twisted into a sneer. ‘You cannot threaten me, Prince Ashoka,’ he said. Kosala’s voice was still as he responded, but his undertone held all the malice in the world. ‘Especially as your brother has given me strict orders to make sure you do not attempt any tricks . His own words.’

Ashoka bristled. ‘That does not mean you can overrule all of my decisions.’

‘When it concerns the mayakari, I can, Prince Ashoka,’ Governor Kosala refuted. ‘Reverse your decree before I let Emperor Arush know. I don’t think you want that, do you?’

Ashoka was sure that he was gritting his teeth hard enough to crack. Blast Arush and his rules.

His silence seemed to renew the governor’s good mood. Kosala straightened his shoulders and shot him a smile.

‘Since there is nothing else to discuss, Prince Ashoka, I will take my leave.’ His voice was nonchalant when he bowed, as if absolutely nothing had transpired between them. ‘I hope my story satisfied you.’

‘It was poorly told,’ Ashoka replied, stone-faced.

Kosala shrugged. ‘I was never one for stories,’ he said before turning to leave. The way in which he departed, whistling a merry tune, held the air of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. Ashoka had the sudden urge to run after him and ram his dagger through his heart. He wanted to see the blood pooling out of his chest, wanted to see the light disappear from his eyes as he lay dying a slow, painful death.

No , he told himself. Such rage was not him. You will not think this way.

To calm himself, Ashoka decided to walk around the courtyard among the trees and flowers. He had half a mind to visit Sahry in her pen but decided against it. She tended to sense his moods and reciprocate in a similar fashion; if he was angry, she would be agitated.

A relieved Sachith followed him out to the courtyard, keeping a respectful distance away. Ashoka had found him that night by the embankment, worried out of his mind and ready to call in additional guards to track him down. Hearing that he only wished to take a stroll within a confined cage and not a maze-like city would have made him exorbitantly pleased.

I hope you can get the Ridi soldiers to me, Sau , he thought. Kosala was right. These soldiers would distrust him. They knew as well as he did who the true emperor was. He wandered the gardens and found himself drawn past the hedge that housed the ornamental gold flower patch. It stood out like a dead body in a barren field. How cruel of his father to place something like this here.

Stooping down, he observed the handiwork; whoever had made it certainly had a talented hand.

As he ran a gentle finger around the petals’ edges, Ashoka felt a phantom brush against his left cheek. At first, he thought nothing of it, but when Sachith let out a shocked gasp, Ashoka turned to his side.

A minor spirit greeted him.

This one was a wisp of a creature; one-eyed, pale green and little. It had one arm like a human while the other was a curlicue tendril dusted with flecks of gold. It chattered to him incoherently, and the sound recalled the echolalia of a child.

Ashoka wished he could understand it. That incandescent song was as foreign to him as his father’s pride. ‘Hello, little one,’ he said with a smile.

Hovering by his neck, the spirit tugged at his burned ear with its human hand. At first, the sensation was ghostlike; the next minute, he was doubled over, fingers grasping the dirt as his entire body went into shock.

‘ Prince Ashoka! ’

Sachith’s voice was faint, barely there. A terrible fear took over Ashoka as he clutched his throat. His lungs felt full, not with air but with something more solid. For a terrible, split second, he couldn’t breathe.

What is this , he thought to himself as he let out an aggressive cough. He could feel Sachith’s hands thumping against his back in a furious attempt to dislodge something. What followed the fear was dread, a dark acceptance, a vengeful promise, then—

Blood. Heat. Metals smelted. Remodelled.

With another frightful cough the paralysing distress left Ashoka’s body. His spine stopped tingling, his stomach unknotted itself, and his fingers relaxed against the dirt.

Those are not my emotions.

‘Prince Ashoka!’ It was Sachith’s voice again, this time much clearer. Clasping his shoulder in a tight squeeze, he helped Ashoka sit up. ‘Are you all right? What happened? I shall fetch the physician immediately.’

‘No.’ Letting out a ragged breath, Ashoka lifted his head so he was eye-to-eye with the nature spirit. ‘There is no need, Sachith.’

‘No need?’ Sachith’s pitch rose a fraction. Ashoka was going to send the poor man into an early retirement, that much he was willing to bet coin on.

‘I was not overcome with an affliction,’ Ashoka replied. He stared at the one-eyed spirit with wonderment. ‘You showed me something, didn’t you? What was it – fact, fiction, or both?’

The nature spirit did not answer him with words. Instead, it fisted its human hand in the air and extended it before repeating the movement again.

‘What’s it trying to say?’ Sachith asked, sounding baffled.

Mystified, Ashoka continued to observe the spirit. It kept performing the same motion. A salute? A code? What was it?

Then came the realization. The flowers were made from looted trinkets. They carried with them violent memories. Blue fire. Gold burning against salt-stung skin. This poor minor spirit likely knew the true weight of his father’s cruelty and had to live alongside it.

‘What else, Sachith?’ he said, and stood up. Dirt was wedged into the lines of his palms. ‘But that my father caused suffering.’