Dark Queen Rises by Ashok Banker

Author:Ashok Banker [Banker, Ashok]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781328916297
Amazon: 1328916294
Publisher: John Joseph Adams Books Paper
Published: 2021-04-19T23:00:00+00:00

Vasurava

1

VASURAVA CRADLED HIS NEWBORN son in his arms. Precious, precious child. Fruit of his and Kewri’s love, most beautiful creature upon Arthaloka. He wanted only to cradle and love and cherish the boy until he grew into manhood. This child was the fulfillment of his life, the symbol of his love and happiness. He ought to walk through perfumed gardens, bathe in cool rivers, frolic with kine and dogs and playmates, be schooled in the vidya, sit wide-eyed while listening to tales of great legends and mighty epics. He should be nursed, fed, clothed, educated, bred, and groomed to be a lover, a brother, a husband, a mate, a friend, a citizen, a chief, a king. He deserved all the wonders of the earth and everything upon it. His name was Kirtiman.

Vasurava held out his hands, cradling the newborn carefully in both hands, and offered him to Tyrak for viewing.

“My lord,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level and all emotion at bay. “As you commanded, I have brought to you my firstborn son. This is your nephew. A beautiful, perfectly formed boy. Look upon his beauty with your own eyes. We have named him Kirtiman.”

Tyrak had moved from the throne as Vasurava spoke to lie upon a cushioned bed. Female attendants had begun removing his garments and pouring scented oil onto his back. Now, as Vasurava raised the infant up for viewing, he grunted and turned his head a fraction, glancing carelessly down. The attendants began massaging him, kneading the muscles expertly, rubbing the oils into his skin. Vasurava tried not to look too closely at the places where unspeakable things bulged and protruded and writhed beneath the skin, or peeped out from Tyrak’s nostrils, ears, or even his eyes, but the female attendants seemed unperturbed by these parasitical abominations. They even seemed to be finding them out and pressing down harder on those spots, as if trying to crush the moving parasites beneath the skin. The sight filled Vasurava with disgust. He fought to retain his composure.

“Why does it not cry?” Tyrak asked.

Vasurava was at a loss for words. “My lord?”

“Babes cry. They bawl. Why does this one stay so silent? Is it without tongue?”

Vasurava swallowed. A trickle of sweat escaped his hairline and ran down his temple to his ear. “My lord, babes only cry when they are in need or when something troubles them. Our little one is a peaceful, contented child. He does not cry because nothing troubles him yet.”

Tyrak grunted, turning his head away, shifting slightly to allow the masseuses better access. They continued their kneading and pressing, and—​Vasurava was certain of it now—​sought out parasites to kill all over Tyrak’s body, not just on his back. Apparently, this was a daily ritual. Vasurava waited for several moments. When nothing further was forthcoming, he began to think that perhaps Tyrak had fallen asleep. He dared not speak again. Better to wait in silence. If he fell asleep, then Vasurava might be able to slip away quietly.

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