Page 49 of The Legend of Meneka
“I will not spill your secrets,” the older man says softly to me. “But think of what role you intend to play in this, child. You are here as a sage-in-training, are you not? Think of who you truly want to be.”
He releases me abruptly and steps back. Vashishta nods to the other two sages, who have been silent. “We are finished here,” he says to them.
He makes to leave the tent, and I am still too disoriented to accept relief when Kaushika draws himself up to his full height. “You will not dismiss me, Vashishta,” he growls coldly. “Youwillhear me.”
“You dare—” Vashishta begins.
“Oh, I dare,” Kaushika replies, and his eyes blaze with fire and anger. The air warps around him, darkness and shadows that splinteracross the cloth of the tent. Light grows between the shadows, like shooting stars ripping the skies. The auras of all of us diminish, and there is only Kaushika, brilliant and beautiful and frightening like a deva himself.
I shrink back, horrified.
Because in that moment I can truly see his fury, his hate, the shadows I have always known lurk within him now erupting with his magic. I see not the sage with control over himself but the prince he once was, bred into power and rule. I see not the man I have come to know but a stranger, with a temper and revulsion so strong that suddenly I realize this is the very same man who likely killed my sisters, a man who would destroy Indra if allowed to. These sages—and I, myself—are the only things standing between him and heaven’s total destruction.
My hand flies to my mouth in shock, and even Romasha and Anirudh are stunned. I know from their expressions that they have never seen Kaushika this way. Eka and Parasara cower back, and the other sages watch warily, none of them reacting.
The silence holds a mirror up to Kaushika’s temper.
His eyes widen, and suddenly the magic leaves him. His face grows horrified, and without another word, he whips around and leaves the tent, every muscle in his body screaming he be left alone.
The moment breaks. I know it is over. With this display of uncontrolled magic, Kaushika has lost what little support he had at the Mahasabha. He could have perhaps convinced Agastya and Gautama, but provoked by Vashishta, he has lost it all.
Anirudh and Romasha utter soft cries, but instead of following Kaushika, the mortals from the hermitage hover near the other sages, begging for forgiveness for their leader, asking for clemency. I look up to see Vashishta studying me, a world of meaning in his eyes. His words reverberate in my skull. Suddenly I see myself through hiscalculating gaze—an immortal in disguise, claiming to train as a sage, caught between defending the man who has killed her sisters and is willing to attack her home, and a god-king who has sent her to her death, who expects nothing but obedience.
Are these truly my choices? Am I condemned to protect those who will only hurt me, who are so mistaken in their own way, committed to not listening to reason? And what does that makeme, to give myself to men like that—whether Kaushika or Lord Indra?
I cannot take this confrontation with myself any longer. I flee the tent behind Kaushika to get away from Vashishta’s knowing gaze.
CHAPTER 19
Ido not intend to chase after Kaushika, but my feet track the aura of his magic on their own, following the strong afterimage that burns on the leaves and stones. I weave through birdsong and breeze, wondering at how this forest seems so peaceful even though it has witnessed such fury. My wild prana surges in me, a river of radiance, and I meet it in my mind, trying to capture some of its peace.
It takes me nearly a half hour, but when I finally stumble upon Kaushika, it is within the trees by a small pond. Rocks encircle the pond, a smattering of gleaming sunlight, the tinkling of a nearby brook. I expect to see him by the grass nearby, meditating to calm himself, yet Kaushika contemplates not the beauty in front of him but a strange stone obelisk rising from the forest floor, almost as tall as he is. He glances toward me, hearing my approach, but his eyes are devoid of any expression.
“My greatest shame,” he murmurs, nodding at the obelisk. “A reminder of what a loss of my temper can mean.”
There is something eerily familiar about this stone column here in the woods like a shrine to a forest deity lost to time. A deep magic strums in it, pulling at my tether, reminding me that immortality can come in many forms, just like magic itself. I do not ask Kaushika to explain what he means, and he doesn’t volunteer either. But he turns to me and his face is hard.
He is bare-chested, and I know he has washed himself at the pond, trying to contain his anger. Perhaps he has even prayed for peace ofmind. Beads of water linger on him, and his hair is undone from its topknot, still damp. Waves of heat radiate off him, showing how futile this attempt at calm has been.
“I am still angry,” he says, confirming this. “You should not be here.”
My heart pounds like a battle drum. I want to tell him that his anger does not scare me, but it would be a lie. Still, it is my fear that gives me momentum. I reach out to him and touch his arm. I expect to be scalded, so hot is his aura, but his skin is cooled by the water, and my fingertips trail up his forearm to his bicep, until I feel the pulse on his neck thrumming below my thumb. Slowly I begin to stroke the tense muscles of his neck. Kaushika does not stop me, but neither does he react.
“If you are angry with me for what I said …” I begin hesitantly.
“Yes, I am angry with you, though it is not rational,” he says, frowning. “I brought you to the Mahasabha knowing I have not convinced you about Indra and his involvement in the halahala. That was my decision, and I stand by it. Nothing you said changed anything anyway. These events were predestined, set on course with my own actions. Vashishta had made his mind up before the gathering, and I worsened it all with my loss of temper. Even Agastya, who has been willing to listen to me so far, will not countenance my audacity now. Yet I cannot waver from my path, even for them.”
“Your path, or yourvow?” I ask slowly.
“My vow,” he affirms, lips thinning. “One that Indra obstructs. I have not told you about it.”
I shake my head, and he exhales roughly, as though speaking of it is painful. He takes my hand away from his neck and puts some distance between us. His mouth draws into a frown, and he turns to stare at the water. In any other man, I would expect the tension to reveal itself in nervous movements, perhaps pacing the small clearing, perhaps fists slowly clenching.
Yet Kaushika holds himself utterly still, and it is this stillness that mirrors his strain. He is silent for so long that I wonder if he has forgotten my presence, if he intends to tell me any more. I stir, grass crunching under me, and he looks up at the sound. His mouth pinches—but I know him enough now to see it is not for me; it is for what he is about to say.
“You remember what I told you before,” he begins, and his words are stiff. “There was only one king who responded to my pleas for help when Lord Indra abandoned my kingdom.”
“I remember,” I say quietly.
