31
Dust rains down from the upper levels of the amphitheater. The cheers and stomps of the audience drown out the violent pounding of my heart. An armorer straps a heavy shield to my arm. The cool metal soaks into my skin, and I shiver in the sweltering midday heat.
Light from outside blazes into the cavelike exit to the arena, a golden path that leads to my destiny or my doom. Cries from the spectators escalate in a crescendo of hysteria, a fervor for blood. They care not whose blood so long as crimson coats the arena floor by day’s end.
An iron helmet is dropped onto my head, pushing me down with the might of a thousand regrets. I should not be here. It should not have come to this. Jaya should be safe in Samiya. Deven should be serving the empire. But they are gone, and I am here.
I will do this for them. I will do this for everyone who will suffer if I fail.
Through the yawning gate, I glimpse the final blow of the opening act. Since Lakia sabotaged her challengers before they could enter the arena, the rajah arranged for her to demonstrate her greatness with a battle against a thieving servant. Lakia ends her downed opponent with a blade through the chest. Blood pours from the defeated thief as though her heart is a fallen bucket.
Cheers erupt, and the rajah’s voice rings out. “See my kindred in all her glory!”
Lakia leaves the arena through an opposite doorway, her arms raised in victory. I do not applaud. Her thirst for blood is disgraceful.
The defeated thief is wheeled out, and the armorer double-checks the security of my shield and helmet. Both are on tight. The quartet of gongs peals, and the mob hushes to a whisper.
Tarek speaks from his perch in the imperial box. “Welcome to the championship match!”
Spectators holler their joy.
“We have had more challengers in this tournament than ever in the history of our great empire. Each of them fought valiantly for my final rani’s crown, but only three have earned the right to stand in this arena today. Anjali, Fareeshah, and Natesa have proven to be worthy contenders for my viraji.”
Across the way, my opponents enter through a door to the calls of the crowd.
“They will now battle the gods’ champion of choice, a young woman who is the living reincarnation of Enlil’s hundredth rani. The indomitable Kalinda!”
My name reverberates through the arena, each syllable ricocheting off the walls and returning to me with the might of a fallen ax. I inhale slowly, my pulse quickening. Remember the gods. Remember your path.
The bladesmith hands me a khanda and urges me out the door. I wage war against my resistant knees, my whole body rusty from nerve-crackling trepidation. But with one step, just a single step, I know that I can build momentum. So I draw a steadying breath, shriveling my monstrous fear to a less sizable opponent, and pass through the gaping sun-drenched gate.
The bright light blinds me. Applause deafens me. My eyes refocus, and I spot the outline of my challengers approaching the center of the arena. A chalk circle marks our starting position.
The battle ring.
The armorer shuts the gate behind me and lowers the lever, locking me inside. A sob tangles in my throat, but screaming is useless.
Anjali is the first in the battle ring. Fareeshah stalks in after her, followed by Natesa. The women are dressed like me, only in black. Their bodies are toned and powerful. Their faces are sculpted with aggression. As I face off with these established warriors, every lurid tournament battle I have watched floods back to me. I know what to expect, yet I jolt when the gongs clang.
Anjali pivots and engages Fareeshah. I thought that they would all turn on me, but Anjali successfully draws Fareeshah away with her, swords clanging. This leaves me Natesa.
“I have waited a long time for this,” Natesa says, slashing forward.
I parry her thrust. “We don’t have to fight,” I say. I lift my shield, and her sword connects. The vibration jogs up my arm. I back out of the chalk ring, drawing her farther away from Anjali and Fareeshah. I raise my voice above the cheering of the spectators. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Only one of us can win, and it will be me.”
“There is another way. Concede and I will see that you have your freedom.” She scoffs and swings. I block and lean in. Our blades bang together. “Trust me. I can save you.”
“I can save myself.”
Natesa pushes off my blade and rounds at me fast. The tip of her sword catches my forearm. My skin rips open, and blood streams down to my cuffed wrist. I retreat, willing away the screeching pain. I had anticipated that Natesa would be the hardest to convince. She hungers for the safety and security of my throne.
Across the way, Anjali and Fareeshah shuffle to and from each other. Fareeshah tries to get past Anjali, but Anjali blocks her. She is keeping Fareeshah away from me. Anjali is on my side, but I cannot do this without Natesa.
Natesa treads closer. “Let’s end this, Kalinda.” She knows that she can best me in skill and strength.
I will parch her if I must, but I do not want to compel her into peace. I pray that she is changed, that she will see that we can finish this without violence.
I toss aside my sword. “I won’t fight.”
Her face contorts into fury. She hits me in the face with the side of her shield. “Pick up your sword!”
I take off my shield and my helmet, casting them aside.
“Defend yourself!” She kicks me in the stomach. I fall, cradling my aching middle. From my peripheral view, I see that Tarek has left his throne to stand at the edge of the balcony. The crowd grows uneasy, cheers switching to murmured agitation. Natesa kicks me in the back, pushing me toward my fallen sword. “Pick it up!”
“No.” I look up at her, my chest heaving. “You are the only sister I have left.”
Her eyes register an emotion between hatred and love. Familiarity. Here, where every woman fends for herself, that camaraderie is precious.
I kneel before her, stripped of my armor and weapon. “It’s me Tarek wants. Concede and I will protect you. I swear on the gods you will go free.”
Anjali screams. I look past Natesa to see Fareeshah wrench her sword from Anjali’s upper thigh. Fareeshah lifts her khanda in a killing stance. I rise and charge her before she finishes Anjali off.
“Stop this! We don’t have to fight! We can band together and save all our lives!”
Fareeshah turns her attack on me and hacks at my neck. I stumble backward to avoid her blade and trip over my discarded helmet. I land hard on my backside, my sword far from my grasp.
Fareeshah laughs. “You’re a worse fighter than I was told.”
I speak past the panic gripping my voice. “Lay down your weapon, and I vow I will protect you with my life.”
Fareeshah lifts her khanda over her head. “What life?”
Her blade drops at the same time that she hurtles forward from the impetus of a sword driving through her chest. I peer past her, expecting to see Anjali, but it is Natesa who wrenches her khanda from Fareeshah’s back. Fareeshah drops to the arena floor in a cloud of dust.
A frantic onrush of applause erupts at the first defeat of a finalist. Natesa levels her sword at me. I go perfectly still and stare down her bloody blade.
“You swear I will have my freedom?” she asks.
“On Ki and every sister warrior who has ever lived, I swear it.”
Natesa’s sword remains trained on me. My breaths rasp, stinging my lungs. She lunges and stabs her blade into the ground, missing my knee by a finger’s length, and raises her arms to the spectators.
“I concede!” Natesa yells.
Anjali clambers to her feet, favoring her wounded leg. “I concede!” she also yells.
They wave their arms at Tarek high in the imperial box. I rise, supporting my injured arm and struggling to regain my breath. The audience’s clapping peters out, changing to outraged shouting. The gongs call for order, and Tarek motions for quiet.
“What is the meaning of this?” calls the rajah.
“My opponents have conceded!” My voice barrels across the oval arena and up into all three tiers. “They have withdrawn their challenge.”
“This is true?”
Anjali and Natesa answer as one. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Lies!” Lakia rushes from the floor-level entry behind us. “The viraji promised them riches and favors if they forfeit.”
“Participating in the tournament was their choice,” I counter. “They challenged me according to their will, and with that same will, they concede.”
From afar, I see Tarek calculating the impact of this unexpected finale. The people desired a champion who would demolish her opponents. I have retained my title by default, but I have still won. The tournament is over. Tarek has what he wants. He has me.
“The challengers stepped forward,” he says, “and they may step down.” Tarek’s false tone of apology hints at glee. He is glad to move forward with our wedding. “Since there are no other challengers, this concludes the tournament. The viraji is our rightful champion!”
Spectators cheer and boo. Those who favored me winning are satisfied, but the rest grumble their disappointment.
Anjali limps to me and swings her arm over my shoulder. “You’re a dolt.”
Natesa loops her arm around Anjali’s waist, supporting her other side. “A brave dolt.”
“Thank you for trusting me,” I say, resting against them.
Natesa leans forward, looking past Anjali. “Just keep your word.”
“I will.” I am amazed that Natesa conceded. Right up until she sank her blade into the ground, I was certain she would kill me, but her time as a courtesan has softened her.
The refuse cart rolls past us to collect Fareeshah’s remains. Regret for her and the other courtesans who died here scratches me raw. I bow my head and offer the Prayer of Rest. Natesa and Anjali join in, and we finish praying together. I glance up at the wives and courtesans watching us from the terrace. This is the start of a new sisterhood in Tarachand.
Natesa and I help Anjali hobble toward the gate. We make it only a few steps before a voice calls out.
“I challenge the viraji to a duel!”