Temple of a Thousand Faces (56 page)

Though she tried to pray and to look for signs, her thoughts moved with too much speed to allow such focus. She closed her
eyes, opened them, wiped her brow, and stared to the south, toward where she had last seen Jayavar. He’d waved and then disappeared, taking the best parts of her along with him.

Ajadevi had usually been content to be a woman, but she wished that today she could transform into a man, grab a sword, and fight beside her king. She would take the battle to the Chams, driving them backward, turning the water red with their blood. She would risk the standing of her karma to liberate her people. Yet she was not empowered to join the fight and could do little but worry, wishing the time would flash by, that Jayavar would return before an approaching cloud hid the sun.

A few of the nearby women spoke about the discomfort of being on the boat, and Ajadevi glared at them, wondering how they could be so oblivious to what was transpiring. Their men would live or die, their culture would thrive or perish, depending on what happened to the south. Every eye, she felt, should be straining in that direction, peering through the haze. And every mind should be praying for victory.

Ajadevi studied the faces around her. She saw foolishness and ignorance, but also wisdom and strength. Her gaze settled on the Cham officer who held the end of an oar despite his bound hands. He was shaking his head and staring to the north, toward Angkor. To her surprise, he muttered something to himself, then shifted on the bench. He seemed restless and ill at ease, the one person in the boat, she thought, whose anxiety seemed to mirror her own.

Without a second thought, Ajadevi moved toward him, unaware of the women who shifted to let her pass. When she made a move to sit on the bench directly in front of the Cham, a Khmer warrior stood up, allowing her access to the space.

“Will you talk with me?” she asked the Cham, then noticed
that the young woman who accompanied him was walking toward them.

He squinted against the glare of the sun that beat upon her back. “Yes, lady.”

“Why do you worry? Do you dread the death of your king?”

“Hardly. He’s undeserving of the title he carries.”

Ajadevi started to speak, pausing a moment as the woman sat beside him. “But clearly you’re concerned. Why? We’re safe here. Arrows cannot reach us. And we’ve taken your king’s boats. We have nothing to fear.”

“Do you see the shore, lady?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Indravarman’s scouts should be there by now. Surely some of his men escaped your attack and have reported back to him. Why don’t we see his scouts? Why hasn’t his army arrived? It should have. If I were he, I’d have sent every man to destroy you at the water’s edge.”

Ajadevi felt her heart flutter. She glanced at the distant and empty shoreline. “But…but why? Why is there no one?”

“No one can be sent if they’ve been positioned elsewhere.” The Cham leaned toward her, his brow furrowing, his words coming fast now. “I think, lady, that your husband is sailing into a trap. I think that Indravarman awaits him out there. Otherwise, why wouldn’t Indravarman have arrived at the shoreline by now? Hearing of the defeat of his men, he would have marched forth with great speed, bent on revenge—unless he knew of your attack and let his men be sacrificed so that he could trap your entire force on the lake. Nothing else makes sense, lady. If Indravarman is out there with his army, he will surround your husband. He will slay every Khmer and never have to—”

“Stop!” Ajadevi held up her hand, suddenly knowing that
what the Cham said was true. The signs had told her as much, though only now did she recognize why the wind came and went, why a haze existed to the south. The world seemed to spin around her, but she steadied herself. “We must go to him,” she said, raising her voice. “Release the anchor! We must go! And cut away this man’s bonds. Right now. Cut them away.”

The warrior next to Ajadevi frowned. “But, my queen, he—”

“Cut them!”

The Khmer quickly freed the prisoner.

Panicking, Ajadevi glanced around and saw that there were twenty oars, ten on each side of the boat. But only seven were manned. She ordered her people to start rowing. As the captain unfurled the sail, she grabbed the oar next to her and lifted it over the water, then dipped it below the surface and pulled with all of her might.

Women began to fill the empty benches, the oars awkward in their hands at first, but then moving in unison with the others. The boat seemed to surge forward, casting the water aside, a breeze suddenly buffeting them.

Ajadevi was now positioned so that she faced the Cham’s broad back. She saw the muscles around his shoulder blades tighten as he pulled hard on his oar. The young woman whom he seemed to love sat in front of him, rowing as well, her back to him.

“Will we catch him in time?” Ajadevi asked the Cham.

He strained against his oar. “Maybe, lady. But the Gods will need to smile upon us.”

The Cham looked to his left. “We must lighten this vessel, lady. All but the most crucial of provisions should be thrown overboard.”

Ajadevi commanded that the supplies be cast away. People did as she asked, even children helping to toss a large sack of rice over the gunwale. Heaving against her oar, Ajadevi bit her bottom
lip, trying to hold back her tears. She felt foolish for not anticipating the trap, and berated herself for the oversight.

Time and time again, she imagined Jayavar rowing as she was, heading directly into the hands of the waiting Chams. She envisioned the look of horror on his face, and then one of resignation. He would try to protect her and his kingdom; he would fight to the last man. But he would be overwhelmed.

By now familiar with her oar, she thrust it forward and backward, grunting with effort. The oar became her enemy. She heaved upon it as if it were a giant snake that had wrapped itself around her loved ones. The skin of her fingers blistered and split, yet she pulled still harder, the pain making her think of what Jayavar would soon endure.

“Faster!” she shouted. “We must go faster!”

The shoreline receded into nothingness. In the open water, the size of the waves increased, slapping the bow of their surging boat, casting spray into the air. Suddenly the Cham’s oar split in half, and he fell backward toward her, smashing into her knees. She helped him up, and he moved to where his lover sat, taking her oar from her. The woman knelt beside him, and he leaned over to kiss the top of her head. Then he was rowing once again. To Ajadevi’s amazement, she felt the strength of his strokes propel their boat forward.

Thinking of how he had kissed his loved one, Ajadevi began to cry. She wanted to do the same to Jayavar. Perhaps he was already surrounded by the enemy, fighting for his life.

Her hands bleeding on the smooth wood, Ajadevi gritted her teeth against the pain, pulling harder. Everywhere she looked, she saw signs of death—the upturned belly of a bloated fish, the broken oar handle at her feet, the way the sun hid behind a cloud. She saw so much death, but could not see what she yearned for most—Jayavar.

Remembering what she had told him, she tried to picture
their paper lantern, the star that they had sent so high into the sky. But her overwhelming fear allowed her no solace.

Death awaited him—a lonely death on a beautiful, warm day.

And all she could do was row.

N
ot far from Ajadevi’s boat, in a larger vessel closer to shore, people around Prak and Soriya began to talk excitedly. Prak had always excelled at listening to the conversations of others and realized what was happening before his mother did.

“The queen is leaving,” he said, sitting on a bench near the gunwale. “And doing so in a hurry.”

Soriya shared the bench with him and put a hand on his forearm. “Why?”

“Is she headed out into deep water?”

“It seems so.”

“No one knows why,” he said. “But the warriors near the front of the boat believe something has gone wrong.”

“But she said that she’d stay.”

Prak looked around. He was used to the dim light of the jungle, and the relentless strength of the sun made it even harder for him to see. Everything was blurry and white, enveloped in a halo of light that made all features indistinguishable. “The warriors want to follow her,” he said, still eavesdropping. “They’re arguing, but I think…I think we’re going to follow.”

“She told us to stay.”

“Yes, but she needs protection. She must not be out there all alone.”

Someone pulled up the anchor. The sail was unlashed and unfurled. Along the boat, warriors headed for their oars and began to row.

“Will you hand me the oar, Mother?” Prak asked. “I’d like to help.”

She did as he asked. “What do they say? Are your father and brother in danger?”

“They’re unsure,” he answered, rowing with strength and ease, aware of the clumsiness of the nearby men. From the sound of the splashes around him, the warriors seemed to attack the water with their oars, beating at it with neither rhythm nor precision. “They don’t know how to row,” he said softly. “We’ll never catch the queen.”

“So…so tell them. Tell them how to make good speed.”

He licked his cracked lips. “Me?”

“They’ll listen to you, Prak. People have always listened to you.”

The oar moved with speed in his grasp, an extension of his arms. He wanted to believe in himself and yet he had been disappointed when the king had used only a part of his battle plan. He might have been a hero if the fire had swept the Chams off the land. Instead he was only the boy who could neither see nor fight.

“Please tell them, Prak,” his mother repeated, squeezing his arm. “For Father’s sake. And for Vibol’s. We need to hurry.”

“I don’t—”

“They may be in trouble!”

Prak nodded and closed his eyes, feeling the wood in his hands and the water beneath them, aware of the sudden desperation in his mother’s voice. “We must stroke as one!” he shouted, trying to mimic how King Jayavar led. “Not as twenty minds and bodies, but as one! Dig your oars deep into the water, make no splash, and pull with me! Dig…pull! Dig…pull! That’s it! As one! Dig…pull! Dig…pull!”

He felt their boat surge ahead, and men around him began to
whoop excitedly. A wind born of their strength and unity caressed his face. For a moment, pride washed over him, but then he remembered his father and brother, and was frightened for them.

“We’re going to fight, Mother,” he said, then felt her squeeze his arm once again. “So when we do, hand me a spear and tell me what to do with it. Be my eyes.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, certain of the path ahead of him. Some of the nearby warriors began to falter with their strokes, and once again he called out to them, chanting rhythmically. The boat picked up speed, rushing toward an enemy that he could not see but knew was there.

T
hough even his calloused hands had blistered and cracked, Asal continued to row with strength and determination. Soon they would catch up with the Khmer king. Soon a fight would be joined or started. Indravarman’s force would be much larger and better prepared. The Khmers’ only advantage would be the fire arrows, which would cause their foes fear and pain. Yet the arrows wouldn’t last, nor would they inflict enough damage. Indravarman would simply have too many men.

For this reason Asal knew that Indravarman would need to die. If he fell, his army would stumble. Leaderless, fighting so far from their homes and loved ones, the invaders would lose heart. But killing Indravarman would be nearly impossible. He would position himself deep within his fleet, surround himself with his best warriors, and wait, well rested, as weary men approached.

Asal closed his eyes, knowing that he’d try to get to Indravarman but would likely be killed in the process. His dreams would go unfulfilled. His sons and daughters would be forever
unborn. And worst, the woman he loved would be ripped away from him.

He continued to row toward his doom, aware that his final moments were passing but unable to stop what had been started. A profound sadness consumed him, and his senses suddenly seemed more acute than ever before. He heard the cries of distant birds, smelled the water, and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin. Most striking of all was the presence of Voisanne’s hand on his knee. She still knelt beside him, trying simultaneously to comfort her nearby sister and encourage him.

Her hand provoked a longing within him. He had wanted to feel her touch for the rest of his days, but soon her hand would leave him. He would be alone. He would die alone.

Afraid that she might have the same thoughts, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “The Gods have such beautiful plans in store for us,” he said softly, his eyes on hers.

Her lips appeared to tremble. “Tell me…of their plans.”

“They shall bring us children. And laughter. So much laughter.”

“Where? Where will it all happen?”

“In Angkor. In a tidy home not far from the Chamber of Echoes. That way we can often thank the Gods for their gifts.”

She bowed her head, then nodded. “I’ll thank them every day.”

“As will I, my lady. As will I.”

“And our children…will be happy and healthy?”

“Yes. And we’ll grow old together. Like a pair of saplings planted next to each other we shall rise…with grace and dignity, our roots and branches intertwined.”

“Promise? Please promise me that, Asal.”

“I do, my lady. I promise.”

She straightened up, kissing his lips, her eyes glistening. “I love you.”

“And I you.”

“I want more time,” she whispered, her hands on his, slowing down the movement of his oar. “I need more time.”

An ache rose within him, stealing his breath, clouding his mind. “I know.”

“Please give me more time, Asal.”

The ache expanded within him, threatening to steal his memories, his very soul. Somehow he forced it away, rowing harder now, trying to focus. “We shall have a girl first,” he said. “A beautiful girl who will remind me of her mother.”

Voisanne nodded, tears dropping. “What…what should we name her?”

He tried to smile. “You think of that, my lady. Think of her name while I row.”