Trees, soil, green—all twisted, all strange.
The solid world around them was like water in her hands. Every time she moved, it moved with her—branches splintering and dirt roiling—and he could only think, wildly,So this is what a yaksa is.
He grappled for his mace. It fell from his hands.
A hand wrenched him around by the back.
“I have one,” someone said. A man’s voice.
Aravind threw a wild punch. But for all his training—and he’d truly done his best—the man who had him was even stronger. Aravind found himself slammed down to the ground. A hand grasped his throat.
Distantly, he heard screaming. The sound of bones breaking.
Above him was a masked face—carved, cruel whorls of wood, and black eyes behind it.
The masked face spoke.
“You’re just a boy, aren’t you?” The masked man’s breath was hot. The skin of his throat gleamed with sweat. He looked vicious and animal, and Aravind wanted to shut his eyes from terror, wanted to die without seeing that mask over him. But when he turned his face away, the Ahiranyi man slapped a hand against his cheek, hard enough to hurt. “Look at me,” the man snapped. “Tell me who else waits us out on your lands. Is the empress’s army there with fire?”
“Yes,” Aravind gasped out. He grasped the lie. “Yes, there are more soldiers coming and they have fire. They’ll destroy you.”
A shadow fell over him. The woman from before crouched down. There were small flowers tracing her throat.
“He’s lying,” the woman said. “If the empress had sent forces they’d be here.” Her eyes were flat, grim. He didn’t know how he’d ever thought she looked fragile or small. Crouched, she was all coiled muscle.
He looked beyond her. All he could see of his patrol were still bodies.
All dead.
“Ganam,” another voice called. “Elder Priya. I’ve caught the commander. He’s still alive.”
“Bring him here,” the woman ordered.
Aravind watched his commander being dragged over. The man’s lip was split. A bloody wound was dripping from his side.
He was forced down onto the ground next to Aravind. The masked man stood tall and said to Aravind in a deadly voice, “Get onto your knees. Wait there.”
Without his mace and with his friends dead—what else could he do but obey? Better to die kneeling, he supposed, than flat in the dirt.
The masked man asked the commander the same question he’d asked Aravind. Aravind’s commander narrowed his eyes. Spat on the dirt. “The empress will destroy you. I can promise you that.”
“They don’t know anything,” the masked man said, turning to the woman again.
Silence from the woman. The rustle of footsteps as figures surrounded them.
“How old are you, you?” the masked man asked. It took a moment for Aravind to realize he was being questioned.
“F-fifteen,” he said.
The masked man said nothing.
“I’ll do it,” the small woman said.
“You shouldn’t,” the man said. “And neither should I.” His hand on his scythe was trembling. “Fuck the yaksa,” he said. “I won’t kill children for them.”
“Let him go, then,” the woman said. Her voice was soft. “Spirits, Ganam. I’m not asking you to do it.”
“He’ll tell someone we’re here,” the man said. “They’ll send more warriors.”
