Page 8 of Her Soul for a Crown
“Will you look for statues that talk? And cutlery that walks?” Anula’s brows furrowed. “Will you be here when the baby arrives?”
A trumpet blasted; a rumbling followed close behind. For a moment, Anula wondered if the whole village was celebrating the news. But then the table shook, toppling the glasses and spilling wine onto her sari. A flash of orange cut across the open window, disappearing behind the trees.
Boom.
The sky burst into searing red.
“Get to the horses,” Thaththa bellowed, rushing out the door as he called for workers and servants.
Without a word, Amma pulled Anula through the house and outside to the gates. A drum sounded, powerful and loud. Hand on her belly, she whispered, “War drums.”
It echoed in Anula’s chest, sending a ripple of fear down her spine.
Strobing daylight brightened the sky around the village as a plume of smoke rose against the clouds from the rice paddy fields and houses.
Not daylight. Firelight.
A war elephant adorned in iron crashed through the gates, rending the thatch houses to tatters. Flames licked the market, then devoured every inch of every home. Armored men poured in from the jungle, brandishing swords, shouting war cries, racing to the beat of the drums. Slicing their way through men, women, and children.
Red mixed with the dirt, muddying the streets. Breath stalled in Anula’s lungs.
“Anula!” Amma spun her around. Held her chin between two fingers. “Look away.”
But death squeezed into her nostrils, burned her eyes. Why? What had they done to deserve this?
“You must run.” Amma spoke fast. “Hide in the jungle.”
Anula’s head snapped up. “But you said I could get lost in there.”
“I’ll pray to the Heavens—they’ll keep you safe.”
“Nimeka?” Thaththa’s voice reached across the expanse where he packed a cart full with village children. “I told you two to leave—”
Loud trumpeting cut him off. A war elephant rushed toward them, a host of horses pounding behind. Anula hit the ground before she realized Amma had pushed her out of the way. Dirt and dust and red-streaked mud splattered onto her face.
“Amma? Thaththa?” she called—ignoring the puddle beneath her, the wet stickiness at her elbows—and pushed herself up. They must have jumped away, too, separated by the soldiers flooding the gates.
A horse neighed, its bronze coat gleaming as it reared up through the haze. And as it landed, Thaththa came into view. Relief filled her lungs. Anula closed the distance between them, arms outstretched for his. To tell him she wasn’t running away. To tell him she wouldn’t be separated from him again. To—
The soldier pulled Thaththa by the hair, wrenching his head backward, and tilted a pot over his mouth. A thick, steaming liquid cascaded out. Thaththa choked as the silver substance spilled over his lips, and the soldier released him, riding off.
He collapsed to his knees.
“Thaththa!” Anula rushed forward. She caught him before he fell, a heavy, wet cough squeezing from his lungs. A puff of steam rose in the cool night air. And then he was bleeding. A drop first, from his nose. Then a drip from his ears.
Dark red rivers trickled from his eyes, like spilled wine over the edge of a table.
Then the water tanks broke. Blood and piss and things Anula had never seen come from her father burst forth. Sarong soiled, Thaththa groaned and pitched forward. He landed on his face, a sigh deflating his body.
“Thaththa?” Anula shook his shoulder. He didn’t answer, didn’t move. He was—
No.He couldn’t be. War never knocked on Eppawala’s door. This was only a nightmare. She would wake, and Thaththa would take her and Amma to the palace. Her sister or brother would be born under a clear starry night, just like her, and then they would walk inside a painting, experience the Heavens’ love, as a family of four. Thaththa would—
She retched, fast and furious.
Boom.
The roof of their estate erupted in flames. She winced against the bright light, stumbled back against the heat and the realization that this was no dream.
