Temple of a Thousand Faces (29 page)

Voisanne and Asal usually met in his room, but on the eve of their departure from Angkor alongside Indravarman’s army, she yearned to bring him somewhere special to her, somewhere that had been a part of her former life. She wouldn’t have wanted to come to the Echo Chamber alone, but with him at her side, she felt at ease. Of course, she still mourned the loss of her loved ones. Yet that loss no longer overwhelmed her. She had Chaya. She had Asal. And she had hope.

“What do you think?” she whispered, squeezing Asal’s hand and looking up to his face.

He studied the chamber. “The rest of Angkor Wat is so beautiful, so extraordinary. What’s so special about these unadorned stones?”

“This is the place where wishes come true. Where the Gods can hear you. And I think they should hear us before we leave their city.”

“How do wishes come true here?”

“Stand with your back pressed against the stone. Then strike your chest with your fist seven times and make your wish.”

Asal stepped back against the sandstone blocks. They were cool against his skin. He looked up at the high walls, which tapered slightly toward the center. His fist struck his chest again and again, producing a sound akin to a large bell ringing in the distance. The sound reverberated, traveling upward, encompassing them with its purity. Entranced by the noise, Asal forgot all about his wish. “It’s magic,” he whispered when the sound had finally faded.

“My father used to take me here,” she replied. “We would listen and wish.”

“How does it work?”

She shrugged. “How does the sun work? Or the stars?”

“And other Khmers? They come here to make wishes?”

“Every day. To wish. To pray. It’s here where we think the Gods can most easily hear us.”

“Then let them hear you, my lady.”

She smiled and then settled against the stonework, keeping her spine straight and shoulders back. After closing her eyes, she struck her chest seven times and listened to the sound of faraway bells. The sound traveled within her, lifting her up, carrying her into another time and place. She wished for peace. Not revenge or bloodshed, but simply peace. If the Chams would leave Angkor, life could be beautiful again.

The Echo Chamber quieted.

Asal shook his head in apparent wonder. “What if, my lady, we wish for something together? Will the Gods be even more likely to hear us?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Then let’s wish for the joy of our loved ones, that they’ve been reborn into better lives.”

Cham and Khmer beat their chests, listened, wished, and smiled.

“I could stand here all night with you, talking to the Gods,” Voisanne said, pleased that Asal was as enchanted as she was.

“You think they listen to us? That they care about us?” he asked.

“Sometimes. But right now…I don’t draw strength from them…but from you.”

“You’re the strong one, my lady, the noble one.”

She squeezed his hand. “When you call me that, I feel warm inside. I smile inside.”

“My lady, my lady, my lady.”

Laughing, she pulled him toward her. “May I tell you something?”

“Yes.”

“When I was engaged…I longed for many things. For my lover, of course. But also for a home. And for foolish things like jewels and servants and power.”

“Most people covet such things.”

“But you don’t.”

“No.”

“And no longer do I.” She paused, her pulse quickening as she looked up into his eyes. “Instead…instead I long for you. I tell you that now, in this room, because I hope the Gods will grant me this wish.”

“They already have, my lady.”

She shook her head. “No. They tease me, is all. Because I don’t have you. As long as Indravarman is our master, I don’t have you.”

“But—”

“I want peace, Asal. With peace comes you.”

“He isn’t a man of peace. I’ve seen such hearts, but his bleeds with a darker blood.”

Leaning closer, she pressed her lips against his ear. “Then we shall have to run. When the time is right, we shall have to go.”

“He would hunt us.”

“So we’d live in fear?”

“Yes.”

She thought about an existence in the jungle far from Angkor. “I would rather,” she whispered, “live a short, beautiful life than a long, gray one. And with you, it would be beautiful. Chaya would be with us. We would laugh and touch and be so happy. And even Angkor, with all of its majesty, can’t offer me such things.”

“I would be a fugitive. We would be destitute.”

“It seems to me…that wealth doesn’t offer the joys that freedom does.”

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it. “Then we shall go, when the time is right. But please keep this between us and the Gods.”

Nodding, she started to leave but stopped herself. “Let me make one final wish,” she said, leaning against the wall once again. She struck her chest repeatedly, heard the bells, and silently begged her Gods to listen to her, to let her escape with this man she was growing to love.

he Cham force left Angkor shortly after dawn. Three hundred warriors rode on horseback at both the front and rear of the long column. Between them walked two thousand foot soldiers, as well as contingents of slaves, priests, and supply officers. Due to the narrow trails, war elephants weren’t used. Horses pulled carts laden with rice, salted fish, vegetables, weapons, and armor—items needed for the several-days’ journey and looming battle. Scores of wives, concubines, and high-ranking officials rode on carts thick with padding and pillows.

The army’s presence was keenly felt in the jungle. The clink of shield against spear, the groan of wooden wheels announced the coming of men and mayhem. Deer and leopards hurried ahead of the Chams, and flocks of birds rose from nearby trees. Scents of sweat, dung, oiled leather, and perfume lingered.

Near the head of the column, on a massive white stallion, rode Indravarman. Though wisdom dictated that he would be safer in the center of the force, he had always led his men into
battle. Behind him were his most trusted officers, each on horseback and dressed for war. Ahead of him were fifteen Cham warriors who hacked at the undergrowth along the trail with long blades, widening the path. The going was methodical, laborious, and yet progress was made. The army slithered forward, deeper into the jungle, heading north toward the Khmers.

Indravarman had informed his officers of his spies’ discovery—that groups of Khmers were gathering in the north near an old temple. These groups were believed to have been joining up for some time, indicating the possibility of a much larger assembly, one likely led by Jayavar. If indeed Jayavar was raising an army near this temple, Indravarman wanted to annihilate him without mercy, and so he marched from Angkor with a formidable force.

The Khmers would likely be slowed by children, as well as by the sick and old. Though the Cham army moved without haste, speed could be employed when necessary. Mounted warriors could charge forward at a moment’s notice. Large contingents of Khmers would lack such abilities, and the Chams were confident that heads would be taken. In fact, wagers were being made as to who would kill Jayavar and collect the bounty that Indravarman had placed upon him.

Asal had been on dozens of similar expeditions and was used to the way that men spoke about upcoming battles, with swagger and bravado. It was usually the youngest warriors who did the most bragging. And they would be the first to cringe and weep when blades opened bellies, when horses fell in thrashing, tangled messes of hooves and mud. In any real battle that pitted equal foes against one another, most of the young would die through their own rashness, timidity, or inexperience. A few would survive, and days or weeks or months later, when their
next battle approached, most of these men would remain silent in anticipation of the slaughter and suffering to come.

Asal wasn’t worried about himself as he followed Indravarman through a bamboo thicket. Instead, he occasionally glanced backward, wondering about Voisanne’s location and how he might protect her if they were attacked. Though it was unlikely that Khmers would intentionally harm her, in battle anything was possible. A stray arrow could single her out. A warrior filled with bloodlust could deem her his prize.

Asal’s duty was to stand by and protect the king. But if wave after wave of Khmers came, would his feelings for Voisanne overcome his sense of duty? Without question, if he left Indravarman’s side, after the battle was over he would be seen as a coward and a deserter. No mercy would be shown to him.

Several days earlier, when Voisanne had beseeched him to allow her to join the expedition, he hadn’t been pleased. For the first time since he had known her, he’d been frustrated with her. Yet he had kept his tongue in check, aware that she was trying to placate Thida. Instead of voicing his displeasure, he had counseled her on what to do if they were attacked—how she should hide beneath a shield or a cart, how she should present herself to Khmers or Chams, depending on who won. He might not be able to come for her, and she would have to fend for herself.

Asal wished that they weren’t in the midst of an army, but back at the Echo Chamber. In that moment, he had felt fully alone with her, as if Angkor Wat encircled and protected them from all eyes and ears. Even within his room at the Royal Palace, he didn’t feel safe with her. At any instant, Indravarman might summon either one of them or split them apart forever. Asal was aware that his king knew that he cared for her, and this knowledge made him leery. It didn’t help matters that earlier, as they had left Angkor, he’d seen Po Rame studying
Voisanne. If left to his own devices, Po Rame would hurt her to get to him.

Careful not to be seen doing anything unusual, Asal tilted the inside of his shield toward him. With his free hand he searched for Voisanne’s note and unfolded a square piece of deerskin. On its underside she had written:
In the Echo Chamber I prayed for myself. I prayed that I am so blessed as to have you for my own.

He traced her words with the tip of his forefinger. Then he folded up the hide and tucked it beneath the iron rim of his shield. He still found it hard to believe that she seemed to long for him in the same way that he coveted her. In so many ways they were as different as sky and sea. She was a Khmer; he was not. She came from wealth; he did not. She was beautiful and gracious, while he was known for the strength of his sword arm and little else.

Asal had been loved by his mother and knew what such affection felt like. And while he had expected to find a woman, to give her sons and daughters, he had never anticipated caring for her beyond a sense of duty. He would provide, protect, and perhaps share a smile. But never had he expected to think about a woman’s face as a battle drew near, to wish that he could touch that face while candles burned low.

In so many ways, Asal was surrounded by enemies. Indravarman would gut him if the mood struck. Po Rame surely planned his death. Equally dangerous, hundreds of Khmers were within a few days’ march.

The only person Asal trusted was Voisanne, yet by merely trusting her, by allowing himself to be consumed by thoughts of her, he was placing his life in greater danger. She represented love and goodness and hope—gifts that he coveted more with each passing day. But such gifts, he knew, would come at a price.

Asal didn’t want to fail his countrymen. He was proud of his heritage, of his ancestors. The Khmers had inflicted as many grievances on his people as had been done to them. He was a Cham and would always think of himself as one.

Yet he was falling for a Khmer. And he could not stop falling despite the perils created by their union.

S
oriya and Prak sat at the edge of a long and narrow clearing. An immense ficus tree had recently toppled, creating a swath of space in the deep jungle. Standing on the tree trunk were five Khmer warriors whom they had met the previous afternoon. The men had been headed away from Angkor, and Boran and Soriya had decided to travel with them. The Khmers were scarred, kind, and well armed.

Since dawn, the warriors had been awake, practicing their swordplay on the broad trunk of the fallen tree. Boran, Soriya, Vibol, and Prak had watched, fascinated, as the men faced one another, one pair at a time. Maintaining wide stances on the tree trunk, they swung and parried, using heavy bamboo poles instead of steel. The thump of wood against wood rang out, unsettling birds and silencing other creatures. The men fought until one was struck down or forced from the tree.