“Run, Lakshmana,” I cried, reaching out for his hand. He took it, and we began to race, stumbling out of the clearing and back toward the road as the flames licked the trees behind us.
I heard Shishir scream, a sound of pure agony—or maybe it was simply the keening of the wind.
By the time we reached our horses, the air was once again warm, and our limbs were damp with sweat. We burst onto the road, panting, and held each other as we watched the fire consume the god’s grove. The trees crumbled into ash, the flames dying as they reached the true forest farther down the path. After a few more moments, it was gone. Before us was a charred swathe of land.
You are forsaken, Agni had said. Today those words had been a blessing. The forest and the snow and the wind had been gods-made and so had been powerless to stop the flames lit by my hand.
Lakshmana squeezed my arm, and I turned to look at him. He had the same confused look as he had worn in the forest. “I—I don’t…” He trailed off, before groaning in pain, a sound that rattled inside my core. I only just caught his head before it hit the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I BROUGHT LAKSHMANA TO Sripura, half-crazed with worry, and found a healer.
All I could think about was that I had brought my son into the grove and shattered that bond without a thought for the effect it might have. He might never heal.
It was only after the healer assured me several times that Lakshmana was suffering from a simple fever common to these parts and would be fine with a few days of rest and medicine that I calmed. That I had broken Rama’s bond moments before Lakshmana’s collapse could not be a coincidence, but I had no better remedy.
As soon as the healer left, I asked the innkeeper to send a message to Dasharath’s man, a trader by the name of Hirav, telling him that his cousin was visiting. The innkeeper brought Hirav to my room shortly after—and his grim expression only confirmed my worst fears.
“I have written many missives to Ayodhya,” he said immediately. “But I am worried they have not arrived.”
“Raja Dasharath received a letter. He sent soldiers. Did they not arrive?”
“No! Did you get my letter about the siege of Janasthana? I fear Sripura may be next.”
“A siege?” I repeated.
Hirav shuddered. “Yes, my lady. It is a rakshasa and a menagerie of feral, slavering monsters. They have attacked many who dare risk the path to Janasthana. And when last I tried to go, I found my way blocked by a ring of fire, leaping toward the stars. I thought it better to return.”
This was far worse than Dasharath and I had imagined. A rakshasa? “Why do you fear Sripura is next? Has the rakshasa come here?”
“Not yet. But nothing has arrived from Kosala. No letters, no soldiers, no supplies. It is only a matter of time.”
I held my alarm in check, trying to make sense of the mystery before me. How could the rakshasa be on both sides of Sripura?
The realization came to me, absurd, impossible, and yet—it fit. For I had encountered someone on the other side of Sripura who may have barred the way.
But Shishir was a god. It couldn’t be. For all my frustrations with the gods, I did not think them evil. The gods would not aid the rakshasas. Would they?
And yet, I already knew the answer. Dread seeped through my limbs as I recalled the story of the churning of the ocean, the one I had loved as a child. Had the gods not long ago joined forces with the asuras because they needed one another to succeed? Shishir had threatened a reckoning. But what had he planned, this god, that would have required the help of a rakshasa?
“I believe the road to Kosala is clear now. We could send a missive to Dasharath. But even if we send a messenger, it will be several moons before soldiers arrive.”
Hirav swallowed, looking down at his hands. “It is hard to describe, Radnyi, but I do not think we have that much time. The whole city is living in fear. And I don’t think we can stop this rakshasa alone. If it wants to burn a path to Ayodhya—”
“What does Ayodhya have to do with this?” I asked sharply.
“The rakshasa speaks of conquering the city.”
It was my worst fear come true. A common goal. We had laughed, Dasharath and I, at the idea that anyone might reach Ayodhya from here. But a powerful rakshasa with an army could wreak such destruction as to destroy entire kingdoms.
Though Dasharath had asked me not to go, I could not just abandon Janasthana to its fate.
I thanked Hirav for his time, then watched over Lakshmana as he slept fitfully. I tried to compose a letter for Dasharath that would not alarm him when he could do nothing, but would impress the seriousness of the situation. I could not bring myself to mention Lakshmana’s illness.
Dasharath—matters in Sripura are worse than feared. I have reason to believe there is a threat to Ayodhya in the forests of Janasthana. Lakshmana and I will take all precautions in looking into the matter, and Hirav will be waiting in a nearby village for us. It would not go amiss to fortify the roads into Ayodhya.
It took three days for Lakshmana to wake, and when he did, he fell out of his bed. The crash startled me from a doze, and I reached for my sword before realizing what had happened.
“Lakshmana!” I moved quickly to his side. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” Lakshmana pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Thirsty. Hungry.”
“Good, good.” I helped him back into his bed and then went to the sill to fetch him a cup of boiled water.
“What happened, Ma?” he asked. “I had the strangest dream, about the cold and then a fire.”
“It’s been a few days since you collapsed. And that wasn’t a dream.”
He fell back on his pillow. “I had a fever.” It was not a question.
“Yes. You did.” I brushed my hand against his forehead. It was blessedly cool. “It has broken now. But you need to regain your strength.”
“Wait, did you say days?” Lakshmana surged forward, and I pushed him back down, until he was fully lying prone. “We need to keep moving. You heard what Lord Shishir said.”
“How are you feeling?” I asked again, more firmly.
He closed his eyes. “It is gone now. The presence. The one that Lord Shishir used to control me. I think… I think it was there before we ever met him.” Lakshmana hesitated. “Do you think Rama had anything to do with this?” I thought back to how Rama had unconsciously pushed toward my mind. Was it possible that the rest of Ayodhya had these bonds too? I knew for certain only that Sita and I were free from them. And now Lakshmana. But no—Rama would not do something like this.
“I think he loves you dearly, but that he does not know how to control his power or influence,” I responded. If doubt lingered in my mind, if part of me was desperate to return to Ayodhya, now was not the time. There was a real threat before us.
“Ma.” Lakshmana took a deep breath. “I love Rama. He is my closest brother. But I have held my tongue all my life in his presence because my tongue has been held for me, and until you pointed it out I did not even realize it. Even then my thoughts were all trapped in my head and I was stuck.”
“Slowly, go slowly,” I said. “Do you mean to tell me that Rama’s influence has kept you quiet in his presence? Literally quiet?”
“Yes.” He took another deep, shuddering breath. “I feel like a different person now. There is no other way to describe it.”
“If you could have spoken freely in our first conversation, what would you have said?” I asked, struggling still to understand this new truth.
“I know that I am more intelligent than Rama, although he is far more skilled in the war arts. And I know that Rama’s influence is the only reason our tutors think he is perfect. He cares too much about what others will think of him, or what others are saying about him. I think that is why he argues sometimes with Sita. And it is why he holds you at a distance—because he knows you think him foolish for it.”
I sat down on the edge of Lakshmana’s bed. “He holds me at a distance?” I asked at last.