Chapter 39: The First Maharaj

Janelsa was always kinda a jerk.

***

The gentle amber light of the setting sun glistened in the spacious grand hall of House Malihabar. Columns ran the entire length of the hall, sheer drapery covered the windows, plush imported carpets blanketed the floor with a dazzling array of designs and colors. At the end was a pile of pillows, topped by Janelsa. She lounged casually as half-naked men behind her rubbed any tension from her shoulders or fed her the bounty of her lands. Adorned in lavish reds, yellow, and especially blues, and cowries painted in similar colors, her black hair was held in place by chains of bronze and gems. Her light blue clothes billowed, letting the heat of the dry season pass right over her, but her servants’ carefully selected forms were only made more impressive by the soft glisten of their sweat.

A massive white bull, the sigil of her house, loomed over the hall, hanging from a banner behind her as if her position wasn’t obvious enough. Underneath it along the back wall, were seals, banners, weapons, and other trophies from the southern houses she had conquered. In the side wall was a hearth with piles of clay tablets drying by the fire. They were diligently ignored by the child with impossibly unkempt black hair padding jade figures along the carpets.

 “And, your problem was…” Janelsa couldn’t be bothered to finish her sentence.

“I said,” Kunya began, fighting every urge to fist his hands. The bright white insignia of clan macaque marked his deep brown skin, the sharp edges making the contrast in color that much starker. His bronze helm and build marked him not only as a warrior, but as a leader among his clan. He wore no breastplate, as if he were inviting his enemies to strike. “I said your tithes are unreasonable. Our lands�"”

“Where are those?” She plucked a seed from an almost glowing orange persimmon and placed it on a servant’s tray. Kunya followed it to her lips before flickering his gaze back to her eyes. 

“Just outside your�"!” Kunya stopped as Janelsa snapped a glare at him. “They are what you call the borderlands between your lands and the Uttara.”

“They’re all Malihabar.” Her anger and a chuckle at his clearly flawed memory battled on her face.

“Yes, yes. But our- Your- This part of Malihabar cannot produce enough for itself and your tithes.”

“Then just get whatever other animal clans there are to give you whatever it is I need.”

“You don’t even know?”

Janelsa groaned and ignored him. “Little Shzahd,” she called out firmly yet calmly.

Janurana stood right up. “Yes, mother?”

“Are you keeping an eye on my tablets?”

“Uhm, Yes, mother.” She stepped ever so slightly to the side, putting her equally airy sari over her toys. 

“I know you want to watch the cooks, but you must make sure the clay does not crack and turn them as needed. Am I understood?” She leaned forward.

Janurana nodded rapidly. She ignored her toys and opened her eyes as wide as possible for her assignment.

“Good girl. Oh. You’re still here.” Janelsa sighed and brushed him away. “Go away and get my tithe.”

“They won’t just give me their own goods to help!” Kunya threw out his arms, but Janelsa kept waving her hand. He fisted his. “They’ll swoop on us like vultures if they see weakness!”

“There’s a jungle between you and them, isn’t there?” She shook her head, confused. “Don’t you watch over the gate through it?”

“Yes, but�"”

“Then close it if they start coming through. You’re disappointing me, Kunya.” She eyed one of the men behind her. “Your replacement doesn’t.”

“Thank you, Maharaj Janelsa Malihabar,” he said dutifully.

“Mmn.” Her flesh prickled with authority of her name and the new title she had created for the unifier of the plateau. “You said you could rule your people for me better than you could please me.” She nudged a servant with her foot and opened her mouth for more food.

“And I am and will continue to�"”

“We’re done.”

Janurana went to turn the tablets, but yelped as they were too hot. Thankfully, her mother was not longer working and it was the perfect excuse to get out of her responsibilities. Janurana faked a sniffle, peaking through her hair to see if she was getting a reaction. With a sigh, Janelsa climbed down from her mound of luxury, tended to her ‘crying’ child, and let her go to play.

Kunya trembled with rage as he stomped on the expensive carpets with his worn and soiled boots. Guards bearing the white bull crest on their horned bronze helms, shields, and chests all watched the enraged northern warrior storm through the massive doors and down the halls of House Malihabar. Somehow more white bull crests hung from the walls with paintings covering the rest. Some depicted Janelsa at the center of everything or above everyone, conquering the plateau in battle after battle, leading spearmen over the other southern houses or making the northern clans bow before her. Light monks praised her, spirits made way for her, and Kunya resisted the urge to spit at each.

One of the servants that had been tending Janelsa grabbed his shoulder, and Kunya almost tore his hand off.

“Nice to see you too,” the southerner scoffed.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Kunya rubbed his brow, and motioned for his friend to follow. “Hello, Nolinga. It’s good to see you.”

“Has it really been that bad in the borderlands?”

“Worse. Every clan beyond the jungle can smell our blood. She’s bleeding us for everything we have and we won’t have it for much longer.”

“Better than being in her harem. Right?” Nolinga pointed to his revealing outfit, a mural depicting Janelsa sitting at the center of the plateau with the other animal sigils bowing to her, and scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“No, standing around, letting her rub against us, feeding her like some child, and closing our eyes when she takes us to bed, much better. I have people starving because their last slice of meat is being taken for this idiot who barely remembers where the lands she gave us even are. Clan Macaque had enough enemies before she actually gave us land and now she’s practically taking it away! My warriors in Vatram say the traders say the other clans are already set to come south and take what little we have. And on all of that the rest of my warriors would rather come south to take revenge on her taxes than defend the first land we can call our own!”

A guard turned after hearing the threat of war and Kunya didn’t care.

“Perhaps this is better discussed elsewhere? Anywhere?” Nolinga whispered.

“Why?? Does she not know how mad I was? What’s he gonna say?” Kunya spun and stormed up to the guard’s face. “What I already told her??” 

Nolinga grimaced, but both he and the guard were silent.

“I tried to tell her,” Kunya scoffed, continuing down the hall.

“It wasn’t all bad. Maharaj Malihabar isn’t ugly at all. There are much worse nobles to be bound to. Have you seen Governor Traanla? Come on, at least get something to eat.”

Nolinga had to direct Kunya down the twisting halls. Janelsa had a few renovated and connected differently since Kunya left. It was a practice she adopted after an assassin slipped in with a knife from house Bhida while she slept. Before he struck, he claimed her abuse of their lands and dishonor to their warriors was avenged. Janelsa had scoffed at how stupid he was to declare his attack and motive as she wiped his blood off her forehead, having buried his own knife into his throat. While any assassin would have to find new pathways, it also meant some of the guards and servants lost their way descending into the basements or just finding their way to the kitchens. The night shift of the house was waking for breakfast as the last of the day’s workers were coming in for dinner. The line was stretched down the hall, moving at a tortoise’s pace.

“Hope you weren’t gonna see anyone else today,” Nolinga joked as the woman in front of them fanned herself.

“What’d be the point?” Kunya growled.

“You really have no allies?”

Kunya rolled his eyes at the southerner for such an ignorant question. “No. Clan Macaque had no friends before. That’s why we had no land.”

“So, you can’t have land if you don’t have friends and you can’t get friends without lands?” 

“A small clan’s gotta prove itself.” Kunya shrugged. “Don’t figure you’d get it, it’s a northern thing. What’s with the wait?”

“I heard some big visitor is coming so the cooks have to make a whole welcoming meal. Less working for our meal”

Kunya curled his brow in confusion at who Janelsa, conqueror of the plateau and tithe stealer of the south needed to impress.

Nolinga had no problem reading his friend’s face. “You know, the fat one.” Nolinga mimed a massive stomach.

“Ugh. Just take from his meal instead.” Kunya growled.

Nolinga happily downed his bowl of boiled lentils and peas, but Kunya recoiled at the mush. It was flavored with fruits and honied meat from the farming towns and cities but it was as if someone took his sweet jungle fruit diet and tainted it with bland southern grains. They leaned against the wall, among the groups and cliques of nobles and governors. The other servants hurried off to separate halls and rooms, but Kunya was a visiting dignitary, one who the nobles still avoided.  They too had to endure this basic lower class meal as the best was kept for the father of Janelsa’s heir. Their complaints about the food barely concealed their previous discontent. Some joked that they ate no better in their own lands with the tithes, while others questioned the rumors of how bad the Rivers in the far south had gotten. If they were true, some claimed it would be an omen for how the plateau may soon fail as well, or at least couldn’t weather something like local rivers drying up any better. 

“I think I’d rather wait to eat until I get home.” Kunya put the porridge filled bowl on the floor, having picked out the fruit and meat. 

The garden outside the palace of House Malihabar was blooming well, despite not being the wet season. A few servants tending the nobles gave Kunya a wave but kept to their duties. 

“You’re busy, I get that,” Nolinga said. “But I don’t think it’d kill you to send a messenger to us so we know you’re okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kunya said, convincing himself. “My own warriors won’t kill me.”

“If you say so. She ran the other clans into the jungle and you just finished yelling at her that they want to attack you. Don’t get snippy at me for being worried.”

Kunya couldn’t deny that logic and looked out from the top of the hill on which the manor sat. It had a beautiful view of the surrounding village, mostly packed mud huts and a few mudbrick dwellings of those trying to scrape a living from what Janelsa left behind or the nobles passing through happened to trade. Closer to the hill were the two storied mudbrick homes of Janelsa’s warriors and other higher ups of her house. There wasn’t a wall in sight, as if she was asking for the challenge. Kunya figured she could almost be northern in that way. There was only a collection of bonfires around the entire city to keep the imps or other creatures at bay during the night. Kunya wondered how far they could even direct their light with a collection of pocket forests abutting the outlying houses.

Kunya almost couldn’t make out the jungle beyond the borderlands, especially with the mountain that was so close to Vatram. The setting sun shone in all its glory over it with only a few wisps of cloud skirting the temple at its peak. The orange dying rays of the day brought the reddish brown of the plateau into full bloom and made the green of his borderlands and jungle more obvious.

“I’ll try to send someone now and then,” Kunya relented.

“Thank you. And I’m glad your clan finally has land. You sure you wanna leave at night? Heading into the Outside?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Kunya marched down the beaten path from the manor. There was one that wound back and forth on a gentle incline so bulls and carts could ascend, but most people ignored it. They instead plowed straight down and created their own. A few of the lower class at the foot of the hill tried to drag Kunya to their stalls or the like, but most ignored the shirtless northern warrior.

Rather than head directly north up a smaller path, Kunya turned west, past the village’s main inn and caught one of the larger, traditional trails up into the northern borderlands. Traders plied the plateau’s flat plains and pocket forests, up and down the scattered hills, following them to house Malihabar and up to the north. In the distance, in the lands now controlled by Clan Macaque, new farming towns were sprouting and spirits helped create palisades quicker than any southern building team. During a stretch through the forest, Kunya had alerted a nearby hunter’s quarry. Even though they were both Clan Macaque, their confrontation was nearly violent. 

Settling down for the night on the edge of a canyon, just off the road from the stone bridge spanning it, Kunya sparked up his fire. The sound crackled through the mostly still air. Unlike nights in the north with just as many spirits around each corner as more dangerous fauna, the borderlands were a mixture of both north and south. Animals still scuttled about after dark, but not as much with spirits to monitor the lands. It was a more natural balance rather than the shaping of human or spirit hands. In a way, Kunya felt more at ease with the danger that every sound could be an imp or scorpion. The excitement made every second of sleep he grabbed more meaningful.

A dhole snatched a hare from its hole, jolting Kunya awake again. He grabbed his ax, wreathing it in green light, but nothing tried to press past his fire’s barrier. He added another log, checked his surroundings, and noticed the bobbing blue and green lights of an Uttaran patrol in the almost intangible darkness of the night.

“Need a rest?” Kunya called to them as they crossed the bridge.

The patrol was led by a spirit like any northern group. She was oddly tall, just enough to make her seem unnatural, but the rest of her was normal. The other warriors put out their lights and took a respite.

“Thank you, Clan Leader,” the spirit said, sitting with a thunk like she was slightly heavier than one should expect.

A Clan Macaque warrior almost spit out their drink. “That’s him??”

The spirit nodded.

“Clan leader! Thank you!” He scooted close to Kunya, eyes sparkling.

“Why?” Kunya leaned away.

“Land! My family served the Boars before this! Our crops are coming in nicely! Thank you!” The warrior grabbed Kunya’s hands, shaking them until Kunya took them away.

“Well, you’re welcome,” he said awkwardly.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Clan Leader. I didn’t�"”

“No no. It’s alright. I’m happy we have the land too. Please, wear your new marks with pride.” He turned to the clanless porter near the back who carried the patrol’s food and drink. “And what clan would your people become?”

“Tree clan, clan leader.”

“An odd choice.” Kunya couldn’t help but chuckle. “Hopefully you’ll get your land one day soon.” He nodded.

The porter rolled his shoulders. “Honestly, your loads are much lighter than the Kalia or Boars ever were.”

The patrol left not long after and Kunya continued his march north at dawn. A few more patrols greeted him on their way back, one was determined to haul home a scorpion they were convinced was the largest anyone had seen. It required four people and the spirit spent the entire night fighting off the rompos and imps that stalked them. Traders came to and fro, snuffing out their fires or leaving their inns. New towns seemed to be popping up daily with some erecting wooden palisades while others relied on their patron spirits to guard the peripheries. Around each the borderlands’ more dense flora was being cleared for yet more settlements, farms, and expansions. Pocket forests were being felled and hilltops were being inspected for possible watchtowers. Kunya scowled at the latter, reminding him of his stress.

A day’s walk from Vatram, he turned eastward towards a newly fortified town, the one Kunya had claimed as his temporary base of operations. It was fast becoming a much less temporary capital of clan Macaque’s new lands. The road was being expanded and beaten down by teams of bulls to make way for the warriors who fanned out to their new watchtowers. The gate was wide open with bulls, traders, warriors, and all the goings on of a military camp passing by. Some lazy warriors pretended they were still on their morning breakfast, sitting on the full jungle tree wall imported from Vatram. But Kunya scolded them from below, ordering them to work. Tents were being replaced by permanent brick and packed mud homes as the wood was being reserved for forges and cooks. Outside one, a Macaque Clan Spirit was presiding over a line of porters all waiting for their turn to be marked as part of the new Clan Macaque. Each came away beaming.

Near the center was the multistory commander’s building. It was nowhere near as stately as the manor of House Malihabar but it was simple and strong, crafted from the wood of the borderlands, commemorating Clan Macaque’s new acquisition. Inside, Warriors passed through for their orders or to relay any information from their patrols to a scribe with stacks of died palm frond records. Kunya passed by the quarters and personal storerooms, and exited a side door to the fenced off racks where the fronds were drying out, and found a woman as intimidating as him lording over them.

“They say a watched leaf never dries,” a small scribe beside her said as he plucked a few from the line.

“That’s what we’ll see.” Commander Orumuta shrugged, long clay red ringlets bouncing. “How did it go?”

“Me?” The scribe looked around.

Kunya cocked his head dumbfounded, he thought he did a pretty good job sneaking up on her.

“I have good ears,” she said.

Kunya sighed and the scribe scurried off as fast as he could once Kunya started relaying Janelsa’s response.

“Are you serious?” Orumuta fiddled with her belt. “Of course. Our farms are barely sewn and she wants her dues??”

“Evidently.”

“Well, what did you expect??” cried the shorter commander Marun in normal clothes. She had a rag thrown over her shoulder still wet with oil from cleaning her weapon.

“That it was our best chance for land!” Kunya yelled back. “Can’t I come home for five minutes without this?”

“Not when you sold us to Janelsa Malihabar! Here’s an idea, I get my legs torn off by wolves. How about I make friends with one and maybe they’ll spit one back up!”

“And we would have gotten land by retreating north like the rest of the clans?”

“Maybe!”

“Oh, sure. Just like the Fish and Tree clan! The Boars, Leopards, Rhinos, they’ll keep it all for themselves.”

Orumuta stepped between the two, her massive arms easily keeping them back. “We can’t deal with the tithe if we’re killing each other.”

Marun scowled deeply. “Thank you for at least getting us this land, Kunya.”

“You’re welcome,” he said perhaps a bit too rudely for the reconciliation. “Are the spirits all off?”

“Yeah.” Orumuta said. “They’re helping erect the new towns. A few are still out patrolling and the one who stayed back here is watching over the markings.”

“Then let’s wait until they come back, then we’ll discuss what to do.” Kunya rubbed his temples.

“What do you mean what to do?? She’s right there! How hard can it be?” Marun grinned.

Orumuta scoffed. “What? We just walk in and kill her?”

“I walked in and she has no walls.” Kunya stopped rubbing his temples.

“And someone will just replace her and know who did it. She just finished beating all the clans back, who else would put a knife in her?” The massive commander crossed her arms.

“Aren’t the other southern clans hating her too?” Marun shifted her rag to the other shoulder as it soaked into her clothes.

“Houses,” Kunya corrected.

“Whatever. They’re still mad, right?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And we’re closest to her new manor!” Orumuta threw her arms up. “Even if we did this who do you think would be the first guess and the easiest to wipe out? Even if she couldn’t trace it to us Janelsa would attack just to secure her rear! You can’t honestly be considering this, Clan Leader!”

Kunya sighed, rubbing his temples again. “A man can dream. Maybe we can pay her tithes another way. I don’t know. Please let me know when more spirits are back. I… I need to sit down.”

No spirits returned, but Kunya didn’t care. Orumuta came multiple times to inform him that the spirits were off patrolling again and only came to replace their warriors. Marun tried to press for permission to at least scout out the manor on her own, but her request bounced right off Kunya. As a few warriors ran past his window, he curled up on his bed and missed the hard ground. The same thought kept crossing his mind, that he could always get up and walk out into the wilderness right then. At least there the only danger was being stupid and not having the fire going, no commanders demanding attention, no possible attacks, no impossible decisions or bittersweet victories.

An earth shattering explosion ripped through the fort. Screams joined the cascading avalanche of wood and unfortunate bodies caught in the attack as the gate outside was blown asunder.

Kunya staggered from his bed. He had heard elephants trumpet in his ears, been in the din of battle, but this blast was far beyond them. Before he even made it to the door, Marun sprinted inside. She was covered in blood and missing a finger. An arrow was broken off in her shoulder. 

“Janelsa!” she screamed before taking one more step and going limp.

Orumuta was desperately trying to organize a few warriors into a battle line in front of the command building, valiantly meeting the charge of Janelsa’s bull horned troops. Beyond them the gate was in shambles. The Light monks had put together their blasts to break it down and were creating a dome over Janelsa’s warriors. It stopped just below their necks protecting them and the deeper ranks from incoming missiles. Sporadic slings and arrows bounced off the dome formations from the disoriented and disorganized northerners. Those charged with Uttaran magic embedded themselves in the monk’s Light or passed through the bronze armor, but they were few and far between in the chaos. The one spirit who had stayed in the camp had succumbed to the Light blasts when the gate fell. He struggled to get up as sections of his body had been blown clean off, not healing. Three monks broke off from the formation to put him out of his misery, erasing him under their pillars of Light. Kunya slipped his ax from his belt and leapt forward to join the fray. He sprung over a falling comrade to land on top of the dome of Light. The personal guard of House Malihabar beneath readied their spears and General Malindani, commander of her guard, ordered that section of the wall dropped. But rather than simply fall onto the bristling forest of bronze like they intended, Kunya leapt to the side. The warriors stabbed at nothing and a stray arrow flew through the hole, thunking into one’s shoulder. Kunya wreathed his weapon in his own magic, leapt in and tackled that one to the ground, then buried his ax in another’s head. It slid through his helmet like it wasn’t there. He slipped between two more and took out the legs of the final one before coming face to face with the woman commanding just behind the front lines, with a helm sporting the largest bull horns.

Janelsa leapt back, as if another arrow had simply missed her, but Kunya’s swing slid through her chest armor and grazed her skin. She snapped her two handed, imported, double-headed ax up to knock Kunya back, then brought it down again for a chop. He jumped back, but her personal guard engaged the northern leader as Janelsa returned to issuing orders, demanding the ascetics around her drop their overhead shields to shore up the left as more warriors were regrouping there.

“Face me yourself!”Kunya roared. 

He parried spear, ax, club, and the odd sword alike. A warrior behind him broke off from his position to try to stab Kunya in the back, but was met by Orumuta’s ax splitting his skull. She had copied Kunya and leapt over the line. 

But they had nowhere to go, and bronze stabbing from every angle.

When the battle ceased, Janelsa walked out of the commander’s building. She was sure to inspect it personally, tallying any and all information and loot herself then checking the records her scribes were scribbling down behind her. She brushed dust and blood from her chest and wiped her ax head with a rag from Marun’s quarters. Her warriors were stabbing the dying northerners, piling the dead, claiming any usable weapons, rounding up survivors and civilians, and looting the houses for whatever looked valuable. One tried to pocket a bag of cowries rather than bring it to the carts being piled high with every scrap of plunder, and was subsequently relieved of his hand by Janelsa herself. Each cart was tallied by another scribe, who was taking records of who had died, who was wounded, and what material would be sorted fairly among Janelsa’s warriors, with a share allocated for the families of those who died. She examined the pile of bodies being stripped of salvageable armor and weapons. 

Kunya sputtered as he was patted down. Before a warrior could end his misery, Janelsa stepped forward. She removed her helm. 

“Oh, Kunya. Why did it have to be this way?” she cooed and stroked his hair. He could barely move. “You said your clan would be loyal. All you had to do was pay me. Now I’ve got to take more because of all the trouble to get this.”

With the last of his strength, Kunya spat a wad of blood at her.

“Okay. Disgusting.” She stood and buried her ax in him.

“The city is secure, Maharaj,” said general Malindani, jogging up.

“Thank you, Malindani. Get whatever we can out of here and send word to the rest of our forces to cross the canyons and begin. Kill anyone with markings like these.” She rolled Orumuta’s limp head with her foot. “Anyone with other markings let them go if they run.” The commander put his fists together and bowed, then ran off. Janelsa turned back to Kunya’s corpse. “I should have just given the borderlands to the Boars. At least they had collateral.” She stepped over his body.

Author's Note

We hope you have a nice day.