TYRAK WAS SILENT.
All in his presence exchanged glances, their faces showing their fear.
Never before had he been so quiet for so long. Tantrums, rantings, rages, furies—they were accustomed to all these. They did not relish them, but they expected them. They were like earthquakes and hurricanes, floods and famines: inevitable.
But they had not expected this silence.
He sat there on the royal dais, head resting on one fist, the other fist resting on his thigh. The throne lay in smithereens around him. He had smashed it to bits when he found he could no longer fit upon it. The rumor among the men was that he could no longer control his size changes and other bodily processes. Nobody had any idea what that meant or portended. But absurd and amusing though it was, nobody dared laugh or speak of it anywhere within hearing distance of him. They remained as silent as he was even now, waiting with dread in their hearts.
The eighth child had been born, as prophesied.
It had been a girl.
Those who had been with Tyrak, Bane, and Uaraj when they went to Vasurava’s house said that they saw the newborn girl themselves. It was evident that she had been born that very night, no more than a few hours earlier.
How a woman could deliver a perfectly healthy baby when she had not exhibited a single sign of pregnancy just the day before, nobody dared to ask.
How the bolts of all the doors had been broken, the chains shattered, the manacles unclasped, the wall brought down, nobody could explain either.
Tyrak had roared with rage when he saw the newborn child.
Snatching it out of Kewri’s arms—she had cried out as he did so, raising her hands in a gesture of pleading—Tyrak took the girl infant by the leg, swung her around once, twice, and then a third time, as he always did when killing infants. He had been seen doing the same thing hundreds of times before, with nary a variation. He had even mused to himself that it was the most efficient way to do the job.
But this time, as he swung the child around the third and final time, she flew out of his hands—not across the house, but up into the air, above Tyrak’s head.
Where she floated, gurgling happily.
Tyrak turned and stared at his empty hand, then up at the floating child. Everybody stared as well.
The baby laughed and clapped her tiny hands. They didn’t meet perfectly, because babies did not have very good coordination. But the action was unmistakable.
And then the baby transformed into a goddess.
Resplendent, with beautiful blue skin, decorated with garlands, rich robes, jewelry, and accoutrements, she floated in midair.
“I am Jeel, sister of Vish. My brother bid me come here to give you this message.”
And then she said it, the thing that nobody dared speak aloud in Tyrak’s presence. Even though every soldier here knew that across Mraashk, across the Arrgodi nations, the same words were being repeated with laughter, with tears of joy, with cheers and applause and celebration, with festive glee.
“The Slayer of Tyrak has been born. And he is safely out of your reach.”
Then the devi had vanished, leaving only flower petals that fell in a shower to the ground. Her laughter echoed in the air, more like a baby’s gurgle than a woman’s laugh.
Tyrak had returned to his palace and now sat still, silent. He had seemed bewildered ever since the appearance of the goddess.
Finally, plucking up their courage, Bane and Uaraj spoke up, both taking turns, as if they had decided that they should share the risk of bringing the king’s wrath down on themselves.
“My lord,” Bane said, “there is unrest in the city. The events of last night have thrown the people into a frenzy. Every hour soldiers bring word that Arrgodi are challenging our soldiers, defying them in small ways.”
Bane glanced at Uaraj, who swallowed and took up the cudgels. “We must act now to suppress them, while they are still disorganized. If we allow time to pass, there could be an uprising. What happened this morning . . .”
He trailed off, looking at his associate. Bane flinched and spoke up: “Word will surely spread soon. Once everyone knows, they may feel emboldened to rebel openly. We recommend you act before it is too late.”
“If you wish, we could send word to Lord Jarsun to ask for a few contingents to back us up. His men will kill Arrgodi more readily than our soldiers,” Uaraj said in a nervous rush.
Bane added hastily, “Not that our men would not do as ordered. We only point out all the possible courses of action for you to decide in your great wisdom.”
Tyrak raised his head slowly. “There will be no need to send for Jarsun’s army. We will act ourselves, and now, before the people have a chance to gather their wits and rise up.”
He stood, towering over everyone else in the large hall. His head bumped the ceiling, twenty feet above the floor. He seemed not to notice.
“You are right,” he said with surprising mildness. “We must quell this petty defiance before it blossoms into outright rebellion. We must also quell this rumor that is bound to spread after this morning’s events.”
“Rumor, sir?” Uaraj asked hesitantly.
Tyrak looked at them. His eyes were pointing in separate directions, they noticed, and he seemed to have difficulty focusing them. But finally he managed to settle at least one eye on them, while the other roved the far wall, making the soldiers on that side grow nervous for their own lives.
“This stupid rumor of a slayer being born,” he said.
He laughed. A small burst of insectile forms landed at the feet of several men, writhing and crawling.
“Slayer of Tyrak!” He shook with silent amusement. “How absurd. How impossible. I cannot be slain. I am immortal.”
Then he was silent for another half hour. Just standing there, brooding, eyes rolling in separate directions, wildly.
Finally Bane dared to speak up again. “What shall we do, sire? Shall we do a purge, round up the most obvious troublemakers and make examples of them as usual?”
Tyrak started as if disturbed out of deep thought. “What? Oh yes. Of course. No, we shall dispense with the usual methods this time. This calls for something more drastic.”
“Yes, sire?”
Tyrak toyed with something growing out of the underside of his ear. Uaraj looked away, unable to watch.
“The people believe that my slayer has been born today. So we shall rid them of this notion. We shall kill the slayer wherever he might be.”
“But, my lord, we do not know where he is.”
“Exactly.” Tyrak smiled cheerfully. “Therefore we shall kill them all.”
“All, sire?”
“All the newborns. Male and female. Across all the Arrgodi nations.”
Bane and Uaraj stared at him, speechless.
Tyrak’s left eye peered at them. “Assemble every soldier. Every last one. We shall need them all.”
“Even the reserves, sire?”
“Even the reserves.”
They flinched. Tyrak was regaining his normal tone and volume now. He stalked the hall, looking like a man who had reached a decision at last after long pondering.
“They believe a slayer has been born to save them. We shall see to it that this slayer, whoever he may be, wherever he may be, will not live to see another day, let alone live long enough to slay me. We shall do this today and quell all rebellion, all challengers. We shall slay every newborn child in the Arrgodi nations. Assemble all the army, divide them and send them out to start work at once. Tell them to kill every newborn child . . .” He paused. “No, make that every child born in the past ten days, just to be sure they don’t trick us by pretending he was born last week or the week before. When in doubt, kill all the infants.” He thought for a moment. “No, make that all the toddlers, even those who seem a few years old. If in doubt, kill every child. Cut off their heads and bring them to me. I want a full tally by tomorrow morning.”
He looked around the hall at the stunned faces staring up at him. “What are you all looking at, you fools?”
Bane looked at Uaraj, then back at Tyrak. “Sire, you don’t mean . . . all of them?”
Uaraj spoke up. “What Bane means, sir, is that he and his wife have just had twins, only three days ago.” He gestured around the hall. “There must be thousands of our own soldiers whose wives have delivered babes in the past few days as well.”
Tyrak shrugged, already distracted by other, more important considerations. “Then we must start with them first. Lead by example.” He placed a hand on his man’s shoulder, in a mock-friendly gesture, and said in a cheerful tone. “Set an example to your men by showing your loyalty to your King Eternal.” He clapped Bane on his back. “Start with those bonny twins of yours.”