Wolf Land Book Five: Yaksha: Wolf Land, #5

India: 1658

(The Mughal Empire)

Chandri

Iwould never grow tired of this.  The smell of the night air.  The sound of animals and insects.  The sheen of the water under the moon.  As always when we were here, the lotuses were in bloom, flowering beneath the night sky, sending a heady perfume into the air.

I watched Arun as he pulled our boat back to shore.  The way his legs stood, strong and firm on the bank.  The way his arms pulled ably and effortlessly at the rope.

‘You look warm,’ I told him.

He shrugged.  ‘I feel fine.  It is a mild night.’

I bit my lip as he reached for my arm and helped me into the boat, untying the rope and jumping in after me.  ‘You definitely look warm,’ I insisted, toying with the knot of my sari, undoing it and redoing it before his eyes.  ‘I think we should both cool off.’

He laughed, passing me an oar.  ‘When we get out into the middle.  My moon ...’  Even though he used his fondest name for me, his expression was dark.  ‘Did you speak to your father?’

‘I tried.  You know how ill he has been lately.  I will speak with him, my sun.  I swear it to you.’

He looked down at his bare feet.  ‘He is not the same, is he?  Weeks ago I was sure he would agree to our marriage.  Now I doubt he ever will.  I never thought I would say this, my moon.’  He glanced up at me, his eyes a little wild.  ‘But I think we must leave here.’

We reached the tiny island at the centre of the lake.  Without waiting for me to respond, he grabbed my oar, banked the boat and climbed out to tie it up again.  He seemed afraid to turn to face me.  Afraid of what I would say.  On the far bank, a macaque screeched.  Usually I felt like the animals were welcoming us here to the lake, and tonight I was sure: the whole forest was nervous about my answer.

‘Vana is our home, Arun.  You and I belong here.  And you know I am all that my father has now.’

‘Are you?’  He finally turned to face me.  ‘What about his new guards?  He seems to allow them into his rooms quite frequently.  Not to mention you-know-who.’

‘You can say her name,’ I snorted, stomping towards the small grove of trees at the island’s centre.  ‘She is only an Englishwoman.  Not a devil.’

‘I have met other Englishwomen, Chandri.  She is different.  Why is she so afraid of showing her face?’

‘Well, now you are just being silly.’  I unrolled our blanket in the centre of the trees.  ‘She does not want her fair skin to burn, that is all.  Come.  We only have the nights now, since the guards have begun to watch my every move.  Lie with me.’

Sighing, he joined me on the blanket.  At first I thought his mood would continue, but as soon as his body grew close to mine, his face broke into a reluctant smile.  There was relief in that smile, as there always was when we were touching.  I felt it too.  Especially when days had passed since I touched him last.  I moved my hand to his lips, tracing their fullness, gazing into his eyes.

‘I love you, Arun.  That is all that matters.’

He groaned, leaning his body into mine.  ‘Chandri,’ he said huskily, ‘I love you more than breathing.  But I cannot live like this.  Sneaking out at night.  Thinking that, any day now, you will be told you must marry some rich man.  It is only a matter of time.  That is why the English governess is here, and you know it.  To teach you her language.  To teach you how to marry one of them.’

I shook my head, pulling his body down to mine.  ‘Shush.  We will speak of it all later, I swear to you.  We will decide what we must do.  If running away with you is what it takes to be with you, then I will do it gladly.  But for now, please put me out of my misery.’  I shifted so that my legs were around his waist.  ‘For I love you more than breathing, too.  And right now, I need you more than I need the air.’

His lips finally met mine, his body cocooning me, making my every nerve flare.  The noise of the forest grew louder, drowning out our cries.

MY EYES OPENED SLOWLY, afraid of what they would see.  We had fallen asleep, as we often did, beneath the moon.  But usually I woke up into a forest I knew, a forest that was more my home than the palace.  Tonight, though, I woke with an inexplicable fear, and the sense that I was waking up to an altogether different place.

The bright moon had been shrouded by a cloud.  The sounds, though, were the strangest thing of all.  The usual noisy animals and insects had grown far too quiet, their familiar sounds having been replaced by something new.  I listened more carefully.  The noise that I heard was a faint chop, chop, chop.

I shook him awake.  ‘My sun!’ I hissed.  ‘There is something wrong.  I think there is someone on the bank.’

He blinked awake, sitting up immediately and pulling me close.  His eyes went everywhere.  Like me, I knew he could see nothing.  But he could hear exactly what I could.  ‘There is someone chopping at the trees,’ he gasped.

I knew it was true, but I could barely believe it.  ‘Not here.  No one chops wood here.’  My hand began to shake in his.

‘You stay here.  The trees will keep you hidden,’ he said, standing up and pulling on his clothing.  He raced to the edge of the island in a few short seconds.

As he ran, I peered out through the trees at him, fixing my clothing and smoothing down my hair.  ‘Anything?’

He gulped, pointing.  I followed his line of sight, and went weak at the knees.  On the bank we had launched from, wood was piled high.  Three of the new palace guards were there, throwing more wood to the top.  In front of them, silent and still, was my new governess.

After a few more moments of quiet, her voice rang out through the forest.  ‘You may as well row back to us.  We have the whole lake surrounded.’

Panicked, we rushed around the shore of the tiny island.  Everywhere we looked, another guard emerged from the shadows.  Even without the light of the moon I was sure: they were grinning.

Arun pulled me close.  ‘Not to worry.  After all, what is the worst they can do?’

I gazed at the pile of wood, growing higher and higher.  ‘I dread to think.’

India: 1661

(The Mughal Empire)

Arthur

Sweat was nothing new to Arthur.  The heat of battle had become a well-known companion.  But this kind of sweat?  Sweating whilst sitting comfortably within a horse-drawn carriage?  This was definitely something different.

Roger was chatting away beside him, pointing out monkey-covered temples.  Most of the temples they passed for the past few miles, however, were in ruins.  Some of the destruction looked like it had happened recently, whilst some buildings had clearly been in ruins for years.

The further they travelled into the area, the more Arthur began to wonder.  The Portuguese had briefly settled here, but were ousted by the Mughal Empire.  And yet there was not one mosque, nor a single Catholic church in sight.  From what Arthur had seen in other areas, this was an oddity.  Here, on the outskirts of an area known as Vana, all he could see were ruins of Hindu temples.

From some of the people he met, Arthur was told that the temples had been destroyed by the Portuguese Catholics – if that was the case, then why had they not erected their own places of worship instead?  From others he was told that the destruction was carried out by the Mughal Empire.  He had no idea who was responsible.  He had yet to come across anything but the mess they left behind.

There were other things to look at – far more pleasant things, too.  As the road skirted the forest, he spied a pair of tigers a few feet in.  He knew well enough to keep that to himself.  The last thing Roger needed was yet another trophy for his London home.

Roger prodded him in the side.  ‘Was that two tigers just there, Butcher?’

‘Trick of the light,’ Arthur said with a shake of his head.  ‘Just another pair of monkeys.  And do you think we might do away with that nickname sometime soon, Colonel?  I grow as bored of that particular moniker as I do of my job in this country.  You told me I would be dealing in tea, Roger.  I have yet to see a single plantation.  And yet here we are, once again, on our way to negotiate land for yet another cotton factory.’

Roger cleared his throat.  ‘Well, I may have been just a little liberal with the job description.  Now, no need to eyeball me quite so forcefully, Butcher.  You will be dealing in tea.  In time.  Why, by the time we get to this next little village, you shall be a mere hop, skip and a jump away from China.’

He felt his jaw clench.  ‘But once this latest extortion racket of the company’s is done and dusted, I will be buying tea.  Nothing more.’

‘Yes, yes.  Swear on my wife’s life.’  Roger guffawed.  ‘Fine.  I swear on my mistress’s life, then.’

Arthur sat back and grunted.  He should have known, really.  Roger had never been one to be trusted.  He was Arthur’s colonel when he was first posted in Ireland, but he had left for England after only two weeks in Wolf Wood.  To be fair, most senior officers had done the same.  Until Wolf Wood, they had fought many battles together.  Usually, Roger found an excuse to be elsewhere as soon as things got bloody.  And their time together in India was not all that different.  While Roger was enjoying drinks and parties, the most difficult negotiations had been left up to Arthur.

But it was his own fault, really.  He had known exactly what Roger was like before he took the job.  And yet somehow, he accepted Roger’s offer.  In truth, it had little to do with Roger’s many letters begging him to take the position.  Had Arthur not wanted to get as far away from Wolf Wood and his memories as possible, Roger could never have convinced him to come.

They were in the carriage alone, with a driver, a guide, and one of the Trading Company’s clerks up front.  They had left the majority of their people back at their fort, and another hundred in a makeshift encampment a short distance back.

‘Funny for us to be offering him the protection of our men, considering we have left most of them behind,’ Arthur commented.  ‘Tell me more about this Nawab.  Chowdhury, was that the name?  Vana is a smaller territory than most, by the sounds of things.’

Roger cleared his throat.  ‘What more do you need to know?  Each of them is the same as the other.’

Arthur arched a brow.  ‘Really, Colonel?  You expect me to go and negotiate when I know nothing about the man in question?’

‘Someday you shall learn the art of delegation, Arthur.  But if you really want to know more, then I suggest you ask Bole.  He has it all in those infernal papers of his, no doubt.’

Arthur clenched his teeth and looked out through the window.  Bole, the young clerk, glanced back and said, ‘Not long now, Major.  Another five minutes and we shall be there.’

‘Swap places?’

Bole’s eyes rounded.  ‘Major?’

‘No joke, Bole.  Larry!’  Arthur addressed the driver.  ‘Pull up a moment.  Bole and I are swapping places.’

Roger glared at him.  ‘You are abandoning me to that cretin?’

‘Bole is a lovely young man,’ Arthur replied with a grin.  ‘He can fill you in on all you need to know in order to negotiate with this Chowdhury fellow.  Because this time, you will be negotiating.  And in the meantime, I need to go somewhere where I am slightly less likely to throttle you.’

‘Oi!  Enough of that, Butcher.  Remember who you speak to, man.’  Even as Roger protested, he did so with a gravelly laugh.

‘Oh, I remember,’ said Arthur, swinging out of the carriage interior and moving neatly to the front.  ‘I remember all about you.  All about the girls in Ireland.  All about the little apartment in London.  All about the girl you had come to our encampment last night.  And – most importantly – I recall your wife’s address quite well enough to send her a letter.  So feel free to reprimand me.  Anytime you wish.’

Roger’s gravelly laugh grew louder.  ‘You are the devil with a handsome face, Butcher,’ he shouted out.

As Arthur took Bole’s place next to the guide, he inhaled deeply.  The air here was the freshest he had smelled since his arrival on the continent.  There was another smell too, one he could not quite define, but one he found familiar.

Larry, the driver, grunted a greeting and kept his attention on the road.  Grunts were about all he ever got from Larry.  The man was usually suffering a hangover or contemplating the next.

Arun, however, was always friendly, eager to learn new English and Irish words, and full of information about each place he ventured with the company.  That was why it was so strange when Arun’s greeting was even more of a grunt than Larry’s.

‘Arun?  Is everything all right?’

The guide nodded a little too quickly.  ‘It is quite fine, Major.  Quite fine indeed.’

Arthur eyed the young man.  He had known him since his arrival at Surat, and had come to like him a great deal.  He moved around with the company, translating for them and always showing them the best roads to take and the safest villages in which to spend the night.  He was not quite twenty, Arthur knew, but his deep brown