Temple of a Thousand Faces (39 page)

Soriya turned from the gathering when she heard the distant waterfall. She increased her pace. Somewhere a horse neighed. Alongside the river, a swordsmith and a boy affixed steel spearheads to long poles as thick as Soriya’s wrists. She imagined one of her loved ones being impaled by such a weapon and her gait faltered. You aren’t warriors, she thought. Please don’t think you are.

A hundred more steps brought her to the waterfall. To her surprise and relief, Vibol stood on a flat boulder, apparently studying a carving near his feet. He carried a shield and spear. A sheathed sword hung from his side. The war gear made him look older, and even somewhat unknown. She called out his name and he turned to her, then motioned that she should follow him.

They entered the jungle and walked along another trail as it climbed a nearby hill. After passing a group of Siamese warriors and some Khmer children who laughed and waved at the foreigners, Soriya and Vibol made their way to the summit. The crest sprouted thick hardwoods, and shade was abundant.

Vibol leaned his spear against a tree. “Why did you want to see me?”

She realized that his right arm was bleeding from a long, narrow wound. “Did a sword strike you?” she asked, reaching to touch him.

“It’s nothing, Mother.”

Nodding, she looked around for plants with healing properties but saw none. “I’ll fix that. I’ll find some—”

“Don’t. We’re training and everyone has them.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. Such wounds often fester.”

He reached for his spear. “Why are we here? Why did you want to see me?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you?” she replied, biting her bottom lip. “You’re about to rush off to war and of course I want to see you.”

“No one is rushing off anywhere. We’ll be ready.”

She glanced again for the right kind of plant, worrying about the wound. “I need to tell you something,” she said.

“What?” he answered as nuts fell from a nearby tree, prompting him to look up and see a monkey.

“Please, Vibol. Please listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Please do. I don’t know how many more chances we’ll have to talk, and I want to ask you something. It’s important. And it will take a moment.”

“So ask me.”

She touched the edge of his shield, wishing that he didn’t carry it. “Are you here…Did you come all this way because of that girl, that girl you kissed and the Chams killed?”

“What?”

“Prak told me about her, how you favored her and maybe even dreamed about her.”

Vibol’s jaws clenched. He started to speak and then stopped. “She used to smile at me,” he replied quietly. “She smiled at me a lot.”

“Why do you think she smiled so much?”

“I don’t know.”

“You made her smile, Vibol. And I’m sure she made you smile too. Didn’t that feel good?”

He nodded absently, wiping away blood that oozed from his
wound. “Why are you talking to me about this? What does it have to do with coming so far?”

“Because I want you to know two things. First, that I support what you’re doing here. I understand it. And second, I want you to make someone special smile again. I want her to make you smile.” Soriya paused, waiting to continue until his gaze drifted up to hers. “Because when I look back at those days, they were when you were the happiest. You didn’t talk about revenge or swords or anger. You just laughed and made excuses about needing to go into Angkor. And I want to see you like that again. So you must promise me one thing, Vibol. One promise and then I’ll never ask you for another.”

“What?”

“If the fighting goes bad, you must swear that you’ll take your father’s hand and run. Run like you’ve never run before.”

He slowly shook his head. “Warriors don’t—”

“You must run. Otherwise you’ll never know that feeling again, that taste of love. Don’t you want to experience it again? Don’t you miss it? Please, my son, fight if you must. Take the fight to your enemies. But if the day is theirs, then you must flee. You must survive.”

Vibol started to protest but stopped, finally nodding. “I don’t think we’ll lose. But if…if we’re routed, I’ll do as you say.”

“Thank you.”

“But we’ll win.”

“I know. I believe that. But if you don’t, then you run. And bring your father. Prak and I will be waiting for you. We’ll need your swords, Vibol, because the Chams will hunt us. You can still run and be a man. You can protect us from them. And later, when all the fighting is over, you can find a girl who makes you smile. You can make each other happy.”

He wiped his wound again. “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ve always
been fast. So is Father. And if we lose, I’ll do as you say. I’ll run.”

Once more she thought about the long spears, wishing she could protect him from their wicked points, terrified by the thought of steel within his body. She leaned forward, hugging him, squeezing him with all of her strength. He stiffened at first, but then she felt his muscles relax. He held her, promising that all would be well, that he was as fast as any animal in the jungle.

She made him repeat his promises, squeezed him again, and with great reluctance finally let him go. “I love you,” she whispered, taking her necklace of fresh jasmine flowers and placing it around his head.

He smiled at her, nodded, and then, to show her his speed, hurried down the trail toward the warriors below.

A
sal strode forward with grace and determination, trying to push thoughts of Voisanne out of his mind, worried about how the king would react to his delayed return. Though he had spoken confidently to her about Indravarman’s reliance on him, he’d said such words while looking at her face, while being captivated by the possibility of spending another night with her. Now, so far from her, he regretted his choice. He should have returned earlier. While it was true that Indravarman relied on him, the king could still put him to death. Other minions would step forward to take his place.

In the distance Asal saw Indravarman and Po Rame, who stood atop a platform that was as high off the ground as a man could reach. Within a stone’s toss of the platform, numerous war elephants were chained to various trees. Some used their nimble trunks to pull tender leaves from nearby branches. Others flapped their ears, shuffled their feet, and trumpeted. Cham warriors
practiced mounting several of the elephants by stepping onto the beasts’ raised left knees, then grabbing their left ears, and hoisting themselves atop the creatures’ necks. The Chams were practicing while dressed in full war gear, and spears fell, curses rose, and men lowered their heads in shame.

Maintaining perfect posture, Asal announced himself to the king’s guards, walked past them, and climbed up a ladder leading to the platform, which was about five paces long by three across. A flicker of a smile flashed on Po Rame’s face. Indravarman didn’t bother to turn around.

“Lord King,” Asal said, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. “It pleases me to see you.”

Indravarman grunted and continued to study the elephants. Slaves tended to many of the creatures, bringing them baskets of bananas and grass, applying poultices to wounds, and checking that the chains were properly fastened. Though the area had once been fertile, the elephants had trampled the undergrowth, and dust rose whenever they moved. Flies buzzed on their dung and sores.

“Explain yourself,” Indravarman finally said. “Explain why it took you four days to return to Angkor when it took me two.”

Asal readied an answer that he’d prepared the previous night, when Voisanne had been asleep in his arms. “Toward the end of the battle, Lord King, after I had killed many Siamese and my position had crumbled, I realized our women were in danger,” he replied, creating a version of the truth. “My first duty, of course, was to you. And so I ran for you, but was cut off by countless Siamese. I slew several, but would have fallen if I had fought on. Instead, seeing that our women were unprotected and hearing their screams, I pursued their attacker, killed him, and again tried to return to you. But the Siamese were thick between us, and I was forced to go deeper into the jungle.”

“But your position was at the head of our column! You left it for a woman?”

“My position was lost, Lord King. Please forgive—”

Indravarman spun around, kicking Asal hard in the jaw and knocking him from his half-kneeling position. “You pursued your woman and not your king? What if the Siamese had surrounded me?”

Asal had expected the blow. He returned to one knee, his jaw throbbing. Though he kept his gaze downcast, he watched his king’s hands, fearing that they might dart to the hilt of his sword. “My men…will vouch for me, Lord King,” he replied. “I alone warned them of the attack. I alone readied them. I fought with them until we were overwhelmed. My hands were wet with Siamese blood, and I—”

“Your men did vouch for you, which is why you still live. They said you fought like a lion. But lions are proud creatures, Asal. Perhaps too proud to return to their masters. Cut a lion loose, and who knows where it will go.”

“Yet I am here now, Lord King. To serve you faithfully, as always. And I bring news.”

“Then stand, fool, and share it.”

Asal rose to his feet. “I interrogated a Siamese,” he said, beginning the lie that he had so carefully prepared, a lie that was based on his suspicions. Though a part of him felt as if he was about to betray Voisanne, he knew that he must give Indravarman something. “The Siamese was a high-ranking officer, privy to information. He told me that he was supposed to lead his men to the Citadel of Women, and that—”

“But we know this!”

“But we didn’t know, Lord King, that the Khmers would then take the Siamese to a nearby valley, where the true Khmer army awaits. And where Jayavar is planning his retribution.”

Indravarman rubbed the iron in his belly. “We suspected as much.”

“Yes, Lord King. We did. But my prisoner confirmed our suspicions. And looking at him, it occurred to me that some of our men speak both Siamese and Khmer. We could dress such men as Siamese, and they could travel to the Citadel of Women. After they were brought to the secret base, one of them could slip away and return to us. He could then lead our army directly to the Khmers. Surprise would be our ally. Victory would be the outcome.”

Po Rame chuckled. “It took you four days to conjure such a plan? A plan that any child could devise?”

“Simple plans are the best,” Asal answered. “Any warlord can tell you that.”

“Warlords don’t flee from battles. Cowards do.”

Asal’s hand dropped to his sword hilt. “With your permission, Lord King, I’ll rid the world of this—”

“Yet you did run, Asal,” Indravarman replied. “And you took four days while we took two. It seems to me that you felt a greater duty to your woman than to your king.”

“You will always come—”

“And now is not the time for the petty differences between you two to be settled. Now is the time to serve me.”

Asal’s hand dropped from his sword. “My plan, Lord King, will work. We can end this war.”

Indravarman nodded, then spat dust from his mouth. “A week ago, I would have let you seek out this valley, while other men were sent to the temple, as you suggest. But now…now my faith in you has wavered. I see a warrior. I see a keen mind. But I also see a man divided. A Cham, yes. A man who has served me well. But also a man who has let the spells of a woman affect him. The next time you’re faced with such choices, return to me
in one day instead of four; kill ten Siamese instead of three. Do these things and your woman shall live. Fail me again and I shall gut her like a wild boar.”

Asal tried to speak but could not. He nodded, his gaze lowered.

“I let you live only because I admire your plans,” Indravarman added. “And we shall proceed against the Khmers as you advise. Three thousand more warriors will arrive from our homeland in ten days, landing at our base on the Great Lake. Once they do, we’ll march on our foe, intending to attack them in this valley. So you shall continue to carry a sword, to lead men, to act as my council. But for the rest of this day you’ll set your weapons down and become a slave.”

“What…would you have me do, Lord King?”

Indravarman gestured toward the elephants. “The foulness of this place offends my senses. Clean it up. Rid these fields of dung.”

“Yes, Lord King.”

“Only do not use a shovel, but your hands. And be thankful that I’ve let you keep them.”

Po Rame laughed, using his index finger to point from elephant to elephant, pretending to count them. “Better wash, slave, before you seek your woman again. Wash and pray that she doesn’t find me more appealing.”

Though he wanted to warn the assassin to stay away from Voisanne, Asal knew that by drawing more attention to her, he’d only place her in greater danger. Ignoring Po Rame, he unbuckled his sword belt and set his weapon on the platform. “My plan will work, Lord King. If it doesn’t…you may have my hands.”

Indravarman pursed his lips. “There is another reason you still live, Asal. I’m in a benevolent mood, for soon we’ll find the Khmers, and after every last drop of their blood has been spilled,
I’ll ponder which of our warriors deserve fame and wealth. Some will receive these spoils. Others will collect elephant dung for the rest of their lives. And you, Asal, you must decide which of those men you will be.”

Asal nodded, then climbed down the ladder and approached a massive bull elephant not more than twenty paces away. Without hesitation, he bent down and used his hands to scoop up a pile of dung. The dark matter was warm in his hands. Flies buzzed against his face. And Po Rame’s laughter echoed in his ears.

Yet Asal almost smiled. His plan had worked. He was still alive. Best of all, after the day had passed, he would wash himself in the river, tend to those of his men who had been wounded in the ambush, decide how and when Po Rame would die, and then return to Voisanne.

He imagined her face, recalled the fullness of her lips, the heat of her body. For her he’d gladly clean up after a thousand elephants. He’d scoop up dung as if he had been born to do it. The only way that Indravarman could truly punish him would be to take her from him, and to avoid that awful fate, he simply needed to outsmart the king.