As the chariot approached the first main street of the city, Karni saw a crowd ahead. Adran had already spotted it and slowed the horse, turning his head to search for another route. The crowd was at a crossing point where a larger avenue intersected with a smaller side street. The only other way was to go back, but that would return them to the reserve and the temple of Goddess Jeel.
“The only way out is onward,” Adran said.
And then he handed her a bow.
She looked at the weapon, surprised. She knew there was a cache of weapons kept in the well of the chariot, for use by the occupants as well as the charioteer in case of threat. But ever since coming to Hastinaga, she had never had to touch a weapon. There had simply been no need.
She looked at the crowd of people on the crossroads ahead, perhaps a hundred and fifty or two hundred yards away. They appeared to be ordinary Krushan citizens, judging from their garb and the way they were milling about without any sense of order. What threat did Adran anticipate from them?
“We are in the city, the city guard is there to protect us,” she said.
He looked at her, an expression on his face that she could not read. “Princess . . . the horse, the one that was killed by the temple, she was attacked by the soldiers who were accompanying us. They were city guard too. But there was something wrong with them. They were acting like madmen, like beasts. I have never seen anything like it before. By the time I reached the clearing, they had attacked the horse and wounded her terribly. The poor animal, my beloved Chhatri, a fine strong young mare who has served me well for the past three years, was still alive, fallen onto her side, screaming in agony while these men, these monsters . . .” He passed a hand over his face, reliving the horror of the moment. “They were feeding on her vitals, literally eating her with their bare mouths, their teeth, their hands.”
Adran shook his head. “It was the most horrible thing. I shouted at them to stop, demanding to know what they were about. They stared back at me with eyes like blood moons, full of madness and evil. I had already picked up the sword in my hand, and I raised it and cut them both down as they squatted there, filthy with the fresh blood of Chhatri. But my princess, they did not die! They made such terrible sounds as I have never heard from any creature, human or beast, and then they scampered into the woods to escape. I did not know what else to do. I used the sword to end Chhatri’s misery. Then, just as I took up the reins, you arrived.”
She stared at him, horrified by the story. The thought of men, her own guard, acting in this manner, eating a living horse, was unbearable. She knew the men he spoke of. They were healthy, happy men, with families and children. What madness would possess them to do such a thing, to out of nowhere behave like beasts?
With sudden understanding, Karni looked down at the bow in her hand. “You expect . . . more of such behavior?” she asked slowly.
Adran looked pointedly at the crowd ahead. “There is strange evil about tonight. There is a miasma in the air, foul odors, strange occurrences. Earlier, when you were in the temple, the moon was occluded by a strange phenomenon. Something unnatural is happening in Hastinaga, my princess. My responsibility is to escort you home safely, but I have to drive the chariot.” He looked at the bow in her hand. “You are familiar with its use?”
In response, she fitted an arrow to the bow and drew the string. “Ride on, Adran. Do not stop until we reach the palace.”
He needed no further urging. With a clicking of his tongue and a waving of the reins—Adran had never used the whip in all the time he had driven her chariot—he urged the single horse forward. The going was slower than usual, since the chariot was meant to be drawn by two horses, but the single mare did her job stoutly, trotting ahead.
“What is this one’s name?” Karni asked.
“Sreela,” he replied shortly, his attention focused on the road ahead.
Almost on cue, Sreela whinnied, shying away from something. Her nostrils flared and her head was turning aside. Karni saw the roan horse’s eyes flashing with panic. She sees and smells something she doesn’t like.
At the crossroads ahead, the crowd had caught sight of the chariot and had turned toward it. Karni could see the men and women in the distance, staring in her direction. They appeared to be simply standing, none of them talking or exchanging glances. This itself was unusual. But there was something else odd about the way they stood, their arms and legs stiff and at awkward angles. Like someone caught in a rictus, frozen at an unnatural pose.
Adran spoke softly to Sreela, attempting to calm her. The horse reluctantly did her duty, trotting on down the road, but seemed hesitant to pick up speed. She kept shying away, making it difficult for Adran to keep the chariot steady.
The crowd began to move.
It happened all at once—the entire group running suddenly toward the chariot. It was like a regiment of soldiers who had been given a command and had begun charging at the enemy. But these were not soldiers—they were mere ordinary citizens; Karni could make out men in dhotis, bare-chested as if they had woken from their beds in the middle of the night and wandered out-of-doors, women in nightclothes, even children in their loincloths. Why were these people out of bed at this hour? What had possessed them? The hand that drew the bowstring began to ease. How could she harm ordinary citizens? None of them were even armed.
“Princess, be ready,” Adran said. He urged Sreela on with more tongue-clicking, but the horse was clearly panicking now.
The crowd broke out into a run. Karni could see a very corpulent man wearing only a loin-cloth running directly at the chariot as if trying to win a race. His body language was all wrong: his limbs flailing in all directions, his head lolling back, his tongue dangling out, eyes bulging. He was breathing so loudly from the effort, she could hear him even above the sound of the chariot and the horse, huffing and panting. Karni had never seen anything like it before. There were others, all running in the same manner. They looked like they might break their arms and legs simply by running. They reminded her of something, but she could not recall what.
Sreela shied away from the approaching crowd one final time, then rose up, kicking and screaming. Karni felt the entire front of the chariot rock. The poor creature was extremely agitated, and Karni could understand her terror; it was obvious to anyone, even a horse, that those people were completely out of their minds. There was nothing remotely normal about their behavior, their appearance, the wild way they rolled their eyes and breathed through open mouths . . .
Sreela screamed and kicked out as the people reached her. The corpulent half-naked man in the loincloth was the first. Karni watched with horror as he ran straight at the rearing horse, not even slowing down or altering course. Sreela kicked out at him, shrieking, and her fore legs lashed at the man, one hoof catching him squarely on the head. Karni heard the sickening sound of the hoof making contact with the man’s skull. The man flew several yards backward from the force of the impact, knocking down two or three other people behind him, sending them all to the ground in a heap.
Suddenly, the crowd was on them, all around the horse, the chariot, filling the road on either side.
“Princess, use your bow!” Adran shouted.
Karni saw Adran himself reach down and pick up a lance, holding it in a two-handed stance.
The crazed people began to slam into the side of the chariot. The sound their bodies made as they smashed into the metal-clad vehicle was horrible. She could hear bones breaking, flesh slapping, could see blood spurting. They simply ran till they met an obstacle and collided with it—in this case, the chariot. She watched as an elderly woman struck the side of the chariot and broke her arm and nose. The woman staggered back briefly, blood spurting from her face, her arm dangling at an obscene angle—and grinned up at Karni with a ravenous, insane expression. She bared her mouth, revealing several gaps in her teeth, and snarled at Karni, then started to crawl over the chariot well to get at its occupants.
Adran struck out with the lance, striking the old woman in the throat and sending her falling backward.
“Back!” he shouted hoarsely. “This is Princess Karni’s chariot! Stay back!”
No one was listening. It was complete madness, people rushing them at full tilt, slamming into the chariot, smashing their faces, limbs, and bodies into it with reckless force, scrabbling madly at the sides of the well, their eyes filled with rage and insanity, trying to climb into the cab, trying to get at Karni and Adran and pull them apart. She saw the lunacy in their eyes, the unnatural way they moved and breathed, heard the animal sounds they made, and suddenly she knew what they reminded her of: puppets. Wooden puppets on strings, held by an invisible puppeteer. Except these were human beings, bodies of flesh and blood and bone.
Sreela screamed as a horde of people fell upon her and began attacking her. Karni saw people scratching, clawing, and biting, using everything at their disposal to attack the poor creature. She saw blood spurt and heard the unfortunate animal scream as the sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed her.
People now were trying to climb over the chariot well, standing on the wheels, trying to get at her and the charioteer. Adran was working the lance furiously, his muscles straining, face shiny with sweat, as he struck out, swinging the bladed tip as hard and fast as possible. Karni saw necks, cheeks, and eyes, slashed and cut, blood spilling, skin ripping, and yet none of them screamed or cried out or even clutched at their wounds. They simply came on, mindlessly dedicated to their mission. Like puppets, forced to do as the puppeteer made them do.
As if in a dream, Karni saw the corpulent man in the loincloth rise to his feet and come staggering toward the chariot once again. The spot on his skull where the horse’s hoof had struck him was staved in, his skull crushed beneath the clearly visible horseshoe imprint, brain matter and blood oozing down the side of his head and neck.
Karni snapped back to her senses. She drew the arrow back and loosed. She saw it strike the chest of the old woman—who was standing on the wheel about to climb over into the cab—sending her falling back, taking two others down with her. Karni nocked another arrow and loosed again. This time a young boy went down—a child!—flying back with enough force to knock a grown man behind him off his feet. The child rose again immediately, the arrow embedded in his chest neither stopping him nor slowing him down.
Karni loosed and loosed again, killing innocents left, right, and center. Surrounded by madness, fighting for her life, not knowing why. Adran fought alongside her, slashing and jabbing, thrusting and kicking, keeping the lunacy at bay as best as he could. Sreela screamed a final hopeless scream and fell onto her side. The crowd swarmed over her fallen body, tearing her open with their teeth, eating her alive . . .
I cannot die here, Karni thought as she continued to loose arrow after arrow. The sounds of the crowd, of the madness, of the meaningless death and destruction all around faded to a blur.
All she could think of was I cannot die here. This is not the way my story ends.