Sakaala looked pensive. “I’d thought about it, but I felt we had no choice. Our search for King Harideva’s son was going nowhere.”
Ketuvahana watched closely as the wizard compelled the soldier to obey his commands, his mind racing with possibilities. He could use an ally like him.
“It doesn’t look like this control is effortless for the wizard,” he remarked, watching the strain on the wizard’s face as sweat ran in rivulets from his temple, creating dark runnels through the pasty-white, ash-streaked face.
“It is useless to resist, soldier,” said Maayavi. “My hold on your mind is absolute. You will do exactly what I tell you.”The staff shook in his grasp. As they watched, purple bruises formed and spread across the wizard’s torso. Maayavi gave no indication he felt it, though. He continued, as if it were happening to someone else. His skinny rib cage worked like bellows, as he wheezed his breath out.
The wizard looked like a dead man, or near death, propped up by arcane magic.
Ketuvahana’s eyes narrowed as he peered closely. He revised his earlier impression about the wizard showing no feeling.
Now, his eyes were alive with a hungry curiosity. His face may not be registering pain, but the wizard knew the other man’s suffering all right. And seemed to take delight in it, prolonging the moment when he would have to put an end to it.
As a person who enjoyed such pursuits himself, Ketuvahana recognized a kindred spirit.
“What’re you feeling, soldier? Tell me!” commanded Maayavi with a greedy intensity.
The soldier was frothing at the mouth, but his jaw opened and his tongue twisted itself as if in a hurry to obey the wizard’s command.
“I’m sorry!” he screamed. “Please let me go. I have a family.”
The wizard appeared disappointed by this answer. “I’m in no mood to hear your pleas. Try again. I need you to tell me exactly what you feel.”
Spittle ran from the corner of the soldier’s mouth, his eyes were wide open as if in a trance. His body shook with uncontrollable tremors.
“Fear. I am af-af-afraid.”
“And? What else? Tell me everything.”
“Sad. I want to se-se-see my family again.” Each sentence seemed like it was wrenched forth from the depths of his throat. It came in a furious, guttural voice as if his vocal cords took the strain of dueling minds, vying for control.
“Ah…”
Blood ran down from the soldier’s mouth as he struggled to speak.
“Angry. That…that…that I agreed to serve the new king, knowing that he is the wo-wo-worst piece of scum on earth.”
Several gasps came from the onlookers. The crown prince, Nandiketu, stood open-mouthed. Ketuvahana felt his own face twist in a grimace.
“Knowing that you’re about to die, how does that make you feel?” asked the wizard.
“Help-he-he-helpless. But…” The soldier clenched his teeth.
“But what? Speak!”
“I curse you! I curse you with my last breath.” Laughter broke forth from the soldier’s mouth as his mind seemed to splinter and go insane.
Nandiketu, still standing to one side, shook like a leaf. He turned away and went down to his knees, throwing up in a corner and then had to be taken outside.
Maayavi focused on the broken man with the mildest of disgust. “Useless filth,” he proclaimed, his eyes glistening as if he was cheated out of some perverse enjoyment. “But you’ll still fulfill your purpose. Take your sword and kill yourself.”
The soldier unsheathed his sword and placed it under his throat, spraying the floor with his blood. His rabid laugh cut off abruptly as blood bubbled from his cut. He fell to the floor, dead.
Absolute silence descended, broken only by the crackle of fire as it consumed the wood and then by the sizzle that came when the dead soldier’s blood pooled, touched, and was absorbed into the power lines of theyantra.
From the satchel on the floor, the wizard brought forth his ceremonial bone knife—a long femur sharpened to a wicked edge and inscribed with spells. He went to work on the body, cracking open his ribs and then dislocating the skull from the spine until he was able to free it entirely.
Bits of gore and blood flecked the air. Even Sakaala turned away from the spectacle. A few others ran out. Only Ketuvahana and his most loyal soldiers remained behind to witness the horrific dismembering.
