Watchful Eyes
Prem kept her personal bed chamber in one of the old, abandoned dungeon cells situated at the lowest level of the palace, underneath one of the tall, pearlescent towers. She preferred a dark, enclosed space to some wide, airy room with bright curtains, glass windows and a wardrobe full of silk dresses. She’d lived in dirty, cramped quarters for years—dressed in stolen clothes, eating stolen food, always making sure that nobody could sneak up on her in the dark. The thought of going back to some prissy, gaudy existence made her cringe. The cell had thick, hard cement floors and stone walls with flaking mortar. The smell of old soot and stagnant water was in the air, but the small, gray room with its heavy walls and steel bars felt safe. Prem liked feeling safe. She needed it.
She also needed answers, and Prem knew where to find them. The issue she struggled with wasn’t where to go, but with the right questions to ask, and the price she would have to pay for them.
Prem lived in a constant war with herself, caught between heartfelt—if at times reluctant—loyalty to her family and fealty to a darker, more sinister power. The worst part was that she’d never escape that war. Prem was destined to always fight that dark power, and had no guarantee she wouldn’t lose the battle against it someday. She’d won what now seemed like a hollow victory when she managed to return to her sisters months ago, but if she didn’t stay vigilant, that power might force her to abandon them again.
Bright daylight shone through the barred windows. Prem wound the mechanism of her small clock, set the bell to go off in twenty minutes, and—after locking her door with a heavy iron key from the inside—she went to her cot. First she considered undressing, then decided against it before laying her head down. She closed her eyes, inhaled, let it out again and concentrated on regular, deep breathing.
When Prem opened her eyes again, she knew immediately that she really hadn’t. Confirming the dream was easy: she stood somewhere in a vast, nameless jungle. All around her, it was green: long fronds, thin palm leaves, even leaves the size of elephant ears, dangling at the end of long, draping branches. There was moist, black earth under her bare feet, wet and sticky to the touch. Prem could smell the rain-soaked earth, the sweet potency of flowers in bloom amidst bright vegetation. It felt so different from the capital, so primal and alive. She was also naked, which was a common—if oft-times unwelcome—part of her dreams.
There was a humming heat in the air which felt so damp that it clung to the roof of her mouth. It didn’t matter whether the heat was real or not, because the sweat and moisture beading on Prem’s ochre skin felt plenty real to her—that, at least, wasn’t so different from Bhai Mandwa. Prem looked around in an instinctive urge to get her bearings, but then she shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, stifling the urge to say something cantankerous: the forest wasn’t real—none of it was real, and her bad habits were costing her time.
She started running. The earth stuck between her toes and to the soles of her feet, while her lithe, tight muscles responded to the urgency in her steps. The trees around her were tall and close together, blotting out the sky with their wide boughs; long, spidery vines as thick as her forefinger wound around their heavy trunks, and leaves of every color dotted the branches overhead.
Prem came to a wide ditch filled with dark, deep water and jumped, swinging her arms in wide circles to propel herself across. She landed on both feet, picked up a fallen limb near the edge of the creek, and kept running. The branch was thick as her wrist and heavy, about four feet long, smooth and hard, with no leafy offshoots or smaller branches that needed trimming—a good thing, since she didn’t have a knife. Prem didn’t bother wasting time wishing for a more proper weapon, since she knew a hunt to find her was already afoot, but Prem needed to find the one hunting her, and she also needed something to even the odds. Until a better weapon came along, an old tree branch would have to do.
So long as Prem could hear the chattering of birds, the gurgling of the brook or the whistling wind in the trees, Prem controlled the dream—silence was her enemy. She tasted the sweat on her upper lip, smelled the salt on her skin and heard her own soft, steady breathing. Trapped and contained inside the prison of her mind, Prem stayed focused and continued her pace.
Anybody could be a hired killer, but assassins were a different breed. Prem didn’t use firearms; most assassins didn’t. An assassin learned to kill in a multitude of other ways, from the gentleness of a poisoned kiss to the painful, heart-stopping strike of a fist. True assassins were attuned to Kush, the spirit world, and surrendered their bodies to demons—doing so gave them skills and powers most humans couldn’t possess. An evil spirit was bound to Prem like a parasite, making her faster, stronger, more lethal. But Prem was different than most: the spirit inside of her had forced that bond on her against her will, something she still struggled with more than a decade later.
The thing inhabiting Prem was an ancient creature, a Kushin named Vati that she had encountered inside the palace gardens ten years earlier. Vati was a demon of Apjal, the element of water. Water demons were chaotic creatures, spirits of change, upheaval, and violence. Vati was old, wretched, and savored human pain and suffering like sweet rabri pudding.
Every time she slept, Vati came for Prem in her dreams. For years she fought him, tried to break his control, but always failed; her battered psyche was constantly smothered beneath the force of the demon’s all-powerful will. It wasn’t until Prem learned about her parents’ death and Priya’s coronation that she found the strength to free herself and return home, but she came back a changed woman: harder, suspicious and guarded after so many years of being Vati’s pawn. Prem and the demon inside of her now shared an uneasy truce, but the battle between them would never really end.
Weaving between the trees, Prem stepped back and forth with steady feet, still jogging along at a brisk pace. As the ground began to slope upwards, she used her stick to dig into it, pulling herself up. When she reached the top after a minute of hard labor, Prem stopped for a brief second to catch her breath. Her body was spackled with dirt and her face was slippery with sweat. Prem saw a blue sky overhead, but she didn’t bother looking for the sun, since she wouldn’t find it—she wasn’t in a real jungle, after all.
Pausing for breath almost did her in. Prem heard creaking and the swishing sound of branches over her head as something rushed down towards her. She launched herself backwards, right over the bluff she’d worked so hard to climb. As she went over the edge, a spiked log hanging on long vines went sailing right through the empty space she’d been standing in a moment earlier, missing her by inches. A figure was crouched upon it, his skin black as jet, wearing a pale mask that covered his face with long, white fangs in a painted red mouth.
It was the demon, the hunter Prem sought. She and Vati locked eyes for the briefest of seconds and then Prem twisted in the air, looking for something she could catch or grab onto before the ground caught up to her first.
Prem saw a vine-ensnarled branch rushing toward her and caught it, bracing herself for the sudden stop of momentum; she tightened the muscles in her chest and stomach, keeping her arms loose until the very last second. When she caught it, thick brambles and tough bark bit into her flesh as Prem wrapped herself around the branch. She forced her breath out immediately, tightening her grip in the mossy vines to stay upright, grunting as she came to a jarring, sudden stop.
The masked demon leapt down from his perch to land upon her branch. Prem released her grip and fell, still holding onto her weapon as she landed feet-first on another branch below, using the thick layer of dirt stuck to her soles for grip. Above her, the dark figure jumped straight up and rolled backwards in the air, tucking into a somersault before falling toward the forest floor feet-first. Prem leapt after him, swinging her weapon down in both hands.
Vati landed in a crouching position and crossed both arms over his head to catch and deflect the blow. Prem dodged a punch aimed at her head and turned with a dancer’s speed, swinging her club in both hands. The heavy branch gave loud, whirring sounds as it spun, but the Kushin turned every blow aside with the length of his arm or the side of his wrist, moving with fluid, graceful steps.
The demon leaned backwards, watching the stick swing past his head, then turned and blocked a follow-up attack with one arm. He threw his whole weight into the next attack, fingers thrusting towards her stomach like a blade, ready to gut her. Prem pushed with both feet, jumping backwards, swinging her stick over her head in preparation of his charge. When he came as she descended, Prem brought her weapon down in both hands, aiming for his head.
It was a clumsy strike, but it forced the demon to defend himself, pushing the club aside again and aiming a kick at her head. Prem went down to one knee, ducking under the kick and rolled away, heaving the stick up towards his chest in a ploy to make him block another time. Vati was too skilled for that so he dodged instead, maintaining his speed and continuing to force her to keep moving backwards, unable to set her feet and get her bearings.
It was foolish to fight him and she wasn’t likely to win, Prem knew that, and she knew that he knew the same thing. On some nights, she evaded him for hours. This time, she’d found him in what felt like minutes—but, more likely, he’d waited for her, anticipating her approach. When Vati finished toying with her, he’d assert his control over her dreaming yet again.
It didn’t take long for the odds to turn against Prem. Her heel slipped in a small round hole in the ground, making her stumble just enough for the demon to catch her stick in one hand before chopping down hard with the other, shattering the wood into two useless halves while splinters flew everywhere. He threw his half away and lunged at her, grabbing a handful of hair in one hand. Prem spun the broken weapon around and thrust the splintered end against his neck, but she held back from inflicting a deeper wound, watching as the faintest hint of crimson bubbled along the jagged edge pressing into his ebony flesh.
Neither of them moved or made a sound, save for their heavy breathing. The demon held her eyes for a moment before letting them drift down over her body. He caressed her, devoured her with his gaze from behind the mask. It never did Prem any good to feel shame at her nakedness in front of him, so she fought it—he was naked too, after all, likely by design.
“Slower than the last time,” the demon said. His body looked human enough, but his muffled voice had an ageless quality that no mortal mouth could replicate. To Prem, it was almost musical—no other voice in the world sounded like his.
“Still fast enough to make you bleed, Vati,” she said, giving him a firm nudge with her stick to remind him of it. “Besides, I wanted you to find me.” She tried to picture a surprised look behind the mask, but even her imagination had its limits.
“Oh?” Vati sounded amused.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“‘Even cubs have fangs,’ is that it? Still able to surprise us, even after all this time.” Though she couldn’t see his face, Prem could spot his smile in the wrinkles around his eyes. Everything Vati said or wanted came through his eyes, and whatever disguise he wore, they could ensnare her in a second.
Prem knew where things could lead, but she didn’t want to surrender to his urges. Instead, mindful of the fingers curled around her throat, she reached down and tilted up the mask he wore. Vati’s features were dark and smooth, neither old nor young, with high cheekbones and a hairless face. His smooth head, round as an egg, was touched with droplets of sweat. She saw power and a wicked strength in his gaze—Prem felt a tightening in her throat as she swallowed, breathing slowly and carefully as she pulled the stick back from his neck and let it fall to the ground.
“But, perhaps not too surprising after all,” Vati added. The demon’s power filled her now, overwhelming Prem’s desire to struggle or flee, replacing it with a feeling of reluctance and eagerness combined together into a potent, explosive mixture.
“Vati, wait.” Her legs began to weaken and she slipped from his grasp, sinking to her knees in the warm, wet earth. “You…you don’t have to—”
“Do we not?” he answered, looking down at her. She was drowning in his eyes as her vision blurred over, but his voice was dark, perfectly clear in her ears. “We do, because it of the pleasure it gives us, Sachin.” Vati liked to call her that, a word that meant “purity.” In her years away from home, some called her “the Pureblood Killer,” as if she possessed some kind of special pedigree, being specially born and bred for the ultimate sin. The name stuck, but if any word suited her less, Prem knew it was that one.
Dream or not, Prem could feel her heart pounding, the sweat gliding down her dirty skin while a pressure began building deep in her core. Any thoughts of questions, of dead children or furtive killers, they all started to fade away. Prem reached up, slid her palms over Vati’s thighs and across his belly. Be it a dream or a fantasy, the feel of his skin seemed very real to her. Lusting after the demon, whether she wanted to or not, was how lust should feel: exciting, hot, so very dangerous. The taste of his sweat on her tongue when she kissed below his navel was thin and salty while trailing her lips down, down, down towards the flesh hanging between his legs.
But then he pushed Prem away, and she fell onto her ass in the dirt. The stark change of mood was enough to startle her. Vati loved toying with her, playing with her emotions and desires like plucking strings on a sitar. “Enough,” he said. It felt unseemly to struggle as Vati knelt down over her, grabbing her hands and pushing them down into the soft earth, pinning them in place with his strong grip. Closing her eyes, Prem turned her face away; she already felt sullied, befouled. That time made for just one more stain on the black pit of her soul.
Prem knew that resisting or fighting would do her no good, but she was still angry. The demon could snap her bones like twigs if he wished it—while in the dream, his will was her law—so she didn’t refuse him. In truth, as much as she hated to admit it, part of her didn’t want to refuse him. She became a thrall to the demon’s power while dreaming. Vati was a jealous creature, especially when it came to her subservience, but if he couldn’t control her like a puppet anymore, he still liked reminding her who controlled the dreams. Prem often tried to use Vati’s jealousy against him, placating him, staving off his cruel manipulations until she finally awoke.
When Prem opened her eyes, she saw Vati looking down at her, his ethereal gaze showing the tumult of emotion and desire she’d roused in him; she took some twisted pride in that, knowing that even a demon could be swayed by her charms. She slid one leg up, caressing his bare calf with hers. Their bodies were a mix of soft yellow-brown and deep black molding together, exotic and somehow familiar at the same time. Even so, the demon changed his appearance like a performer on a stage, so it was rare for two dreams to show him the same way. “I think I like this shape,” she said, speaking softly, trying to lull him into a better mood. “You should use it again sometime.”
The demon smirked and pulled back from her as he stood, his lustful hunger forgotten. He seemed careless of how lewd he looked, naked and unashamed. “Kind words, Sachin,” he said. “But besting you is for our pleasure, first and foremost; yours remains a kind afterthought.”
She sat up, shaking loose some of the dirt from her hair. “That sounds like you, but I already know what you expect from me.” Prem had years to learn what Vati expected, and usually suffered his cruelty and malice when she failed to meet those expectations. “I was looking for you.”
“So you said before. You amuse us for once, and in return, we tell you what you want to hear, is that it?”
“Yes.” She saw no point in hiding the truth, especially from him.
“What brought this on? Sympathy for the dead human child?”
Prem pressed her mouth to a flat, thin line. “She just reminded me of certain things, Vati—of being that young, and…of things that happened.”
“Is that all?” Vati squinted, leaning in close again, teeth bared in a grin. The demon’s mockery was a different sort from Preet’s. Preet mocked what she didn’t understand, but Vati understood Prem better than anyone—he lived in her head, after all.
“No.” Prem swallowed twice before she could continue. “It’s not.”
“Why not say her name, Sachin?” His voice was low, a crooning whispering, like a lover’s kiss against her temple. “The one you’re thinking of, the girl from years ago…say it. We both know you’re thinking it.”
“Chanda.” Dream or no dream, Prem’s throat swelled and the roof of her mouth was on fire, dry as if she’d swallowed a mouthful of sand. An image of a dead girl with burgundy hair in a flooded cell came to her as old memories and new ones started mingling, mixing together. “That girl reminded me of Chanda.”
“Will you cry again for your lost little gaddi lamb, Sachin?” Vati grabbed Prem’s face in both hands, squeezing tight as he leaned in even closer, eyes burning and intense. “How many weeks did you weep? How many months of days and nights did you search for that girl in vain? How long did it take until you finally left those memories behind?”
Now Prem felt some fire in her again, some measure of anger or indignation. She grabbed his wrists, squeezing just as tight, and pulled his hands off of her—it didn’t matter how far, just that he didn’t touch her in such a way. “I never put them behind me, Vati. I just learned to live with the guilt.” She shoved his hands aside, but knew better than to try and push him back, and turned her face down rather than look at him. “I’m the reason she died. It was my fault.”
“The wolves devour the sheep, Sachin,” the demon said, his breath so hot upon her cheek Prem expected the flesh to melt away. “They never mourn for them. You are the she-wolf, the hunter, the killer! Why should the suffering of weaklings be worth any of your tears?”
“She was my friend,” Prem said, looking at the dark ground between her knees. It was an argument they’d had a thousand times—maybe a thousand’s thousand times, but the only thing that faded with time was the recollection of Chanda’s face, of her voice or the memories of time they’d spent together. Chanda was the first friend—and for a long time, the only friend—Prem had after Vati abducted her. Even now, Prem still felt guilty at forgetting anything about the burgundy-haired girl. “You wouldn’t understand,” she added, glaring down at the ground, not having the heart to look at her tormentor.
“It’s the way of humans to dwell on the past; you, Sachin, have taught us that much. Why do you focus on what you cannot change?” The spirit cupped Prem’s chin in his fingers, tilting her head to look up at him. Vati seemed unmoved, but she saw something in his eyes—resignation, most likely. He was strong enough to snap her neck if he wished, but his touch felt deceptively delicate. Prem learned long ago not to shrink from that touch, so now she tried to hold firm, to not show him any weakness, in spite of how hard her heart was pounding.
Vati stared her down. Prem hesitated for a moment, feeling even more vulnerable, more angry, more naked than she was, even if she knew that didn’t make sense. “Not being able to change the past isn’t the point. The little girl I saw today was young. Helpless.” Just like me, she thought. Just like Chanda. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
“And the others we killed—did they deserve it? Who deserves death most but those to whom we grant it?” He smiled, speaking as one might to a child before patting her head and handing her a sugary imarti as a bribe to quiet her complaints.
Try as she might, Prem didn’t know what to say, and that rankled in her belly like sour milk. It was an argument almost as old as their bond, one she would never win, so she changed the subject. “Amar, the one who used that room we saw—I remember that name.”
“And well you should—as we should. One of several names we know him by.” The demon crossed his legs and took a seat on an invisible perch in mid-air, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to do. “Gomati: that is his true name. A pale man, sickly, a lover of wine…or whatever substitute he can get his hands on.” Vati opened one hand with a flourish of fingers and Gomati’s face appeared. He had sunken eyes in an oval face, and short, gray curls as thick as lamb’s wool. “He belongs to Panka, a spirit of Uthav, the earth realm, but any creature that suffers Gomati to live is a weak, piddling thing, scarcely worth our attention. We met him before, years ago.” Vati turned his head and spat into the dirt. “He was worthless then, and time has likely done nothing to change that.”
“Yes, I remember him.” Prem slid her legs underneath her. “He’s planning something, and my sisters are in danger. All of us are. But now that he’s lost his hiding place, he’ll go underground—he won’t want to be found.”
“Yet, we shall find him.” Vati made it sound inevitable. Kushin could see future possibilities, but the demon sometimes spoke of things that hadn’t happened yet with a certainty that set Prem’s teeth on edge. “And those sisters of yours may be of some assistance in our hunt—perhaps you were right to insist that we return to them after all.”
Prem frowned. “You might’ve said so earlier.”
“They insist on confusing us! Wondering about us, doubting us, second-guessing our intentions…” Vati’s voice trailed off as she set his chin on his hand. “Ever since you forced us to come back to this place—this palace—it is always questions, questions, questions. They should be more concerned with daggers coming out of the dark than worrying about us and our whereabouts.”
She shook her head. “My sisters mean well, I think. And it’s been so long since I was home… I still think I made the right choice, but I never know what to say to any of them.”
“Do you still believe they were worth returning to?” Vati pinned her down with his hard, knowing glare. “Can we trust these strangers you came back for?”
“They aren’t strangers.” Prem wondered if that was the truth, and Vati could feel her hesitation as sure as he could feel the renewed pounding of her heart. “It was right to come back. It had to be. And Priya hasn’t been Rani for very long. She isn’t ready for a threat like Gomati.” Prem sighed. “My little sister is still young. She doesn’t understand how the world works yet.”
“That means nothing. You are young as well. Now, Gomati will kill us, or we will kill Gomati.” Vati’s eyes burned. Prem felt her stomach turn to jelly. “It is the way of mortals to kill one another.”
“Vati, if I can protect—”
“Protection is not our way, Sachin—we kill. That is what we are meant to do. So long as we kill, we survive. If your sisters are meant to die, they will die. Do not forsake our path out of some misplaced affection.”
“It’s not misplaced.” Prem felt her shivering guts go stone-cold, but she forced herself to stay calm, to not shy away from his glowering stare. “My parents are gone. You stole me away from them. Those sisters are all the family I have left now.” Prem wanted spit fire at him. Even a small defiance felt good—she wasn’t the helpless child he’d captured so long ago. When Prem awakened, she’d be in control again.
“And they shall die.” The demon said it with finality, a flat tone that would have made her shiver in her youth. “They will die, and when they do, we shall remain. We shall always remain, Sachin.” If Vati couldn’t control her waking moments, he could still haunt her with his knowing, his certainty of what the future held. Prem didn’t tremble or feel afraid—any fear of death had lost its hold on her long ago—but the death of her siblings, beyond the inevitability of old age, wasn’t a future that Prem was ready to accept.
If he sensed her stubborn disbelief, Vati didn’t see fit to challenge it. “Always be aware of our surroundings,” he said, “whether in a jungle, or in those tall, white towers we frequent so much these days. Those who intend to hunt often become the hunted, something we know all too well. Knowing when the predator may become the prey means the difference between dying or surviving to see the next sunrise.”
“But that hunt may be coming for me as well,” Prem said. “I intend to do everything in my power to stop it.”
“Then mind our steps, Sachin—there’s no way of knowing who might be watching.” Vati smirked and his eyes drew her in, full and menacing, until they swallowed her whole.
Prem started and opened her eyes. The jungle was gone, and she was awake again on the solitary cot in one corner of her cell. The bell on her clock chimed with a regular, melodic ringing. Her lungs burned as if she’d forgotten to breathe.
After she silenced the bell, Prem stepped over to a mirror and bowl to wash her face. She found a thick layer of dirt caked under her fingernails, and she shook bits of dried, black mud out of her sleep-tousled hair. Damnit, now she’d have to wash up and make herself look presentable. Prem paused, staring at the small, round mirror hanging on the wall, and knew Vati was staring back at her.
“Well, I know one thing that’s always watching.”