|| - Vulture's Land - ||

"You often meet your fate on the road you take to avoid it..."

________

Silence is a song of sirens. Salt, cold and silence; he was drowning again. The water, a friend turned foe, was no longer the crystal clearness that he had grown up knowing, instead it was a murky greyish blue. It burnt his eyes, instead of a soothing caress that he recognized. Below the surface, as he sank faster than he could move his limbs was a world of unknown. There was neither a bottom to break his fall, nor weed to tangle and slow down his descend; there was only water rippling, bubbling and punishing for a crime he had not committed.

The brine stung against the cuts on his skin, making him aware of their presence anew. It felt like a snake bite, on his arms and back, all stinging at the same time. Each moment seemed to stretch so that it could accommodate every different feeling of pain that he was going through. Swirls of dark red mingled with the water as he sank further into the shadows.

He was sleepy, his throat was burning, his lungs screaming for air, his limbs that had been fighting to stay aloof all this while suddenly too heavy to carry; and his eyelids were drooping. There was a ringing in his ears, growing louder as he sank. His thoughts were no longer coherent, but he thought of sirens again. Singing, they were singing in his head.

He could not open his eyes once they closed to blink; they had become heavy as well. Then the darkness brought memories.

Fires, metal, chains and whips cracking against raw skin. Something tightened around his throat, tighter, tighter it wrapped his wind pipe until he was gasping.

David McLane gasped as he woke up and then tried to cover it up, by flattening his dark, unruly hair and leaning back on his seat.

Their carriage had not yet recovered from the rock under the wheel and swayed threateningly from side to side as they sped forward. Dave fumbled with his collar, thanks to the heat and dust the fabric was irritatingly tight around his throat. Andrew Kent his travelling companion and friend gave him a look of sympathy over the book he was reading. His sister, Lilian Kent was not so moderate in her reaction though.

"Oh, this is awful!" She cried as the two young men exchanged a look. A corner of Andrew's mouth twitched as he noted the bored expression in his friend's grey eyes. It might have been the twelfth time Lily had complained about the journey, to which she was in fact a self-invited addition. "When will it cool down?"

"Sister," although he knew it was a vain attempt Andrew felt himself duty bound to try. "Look the sun is almost sinking."

He was right. The endless blue of the sky had taken a purple hue and splashes of red littered the western edge. Lilian however did not look very impressed with the information.

"Which I'm sure will make no change," she declared, her expression decidedly sour. "I wonder how I am to survive months here. Surely, this place gets rain at some point?"

This time the question was not directed at the two well-dressed young men, but at their driver, Gobind, who was to act as their mediator, interpreter, and tour guide once they were inside the Chandranagara palace. The friendly, little man had been sharing anecdotes of his childhood in these areas before Lilian had decided to announce 'how awful' everything was had fallen silent since then. Now, that he was addressed the man cleared his throat.

"Rains are lovely alright Ma'am but I'm sure you will love winter in Chandranagara more!"

"That I doubt..."

"Of cause, since you are going to be there during the best of times," Gobind told her, trying hard to ward off the smile her antics had brought upon his lips. "Especially these days,s when they are celebrating Diwali."

"Aha! That's Lord Ram's return to Ayodya right?" Andrew piped in. Dave sighed and gave his friend the same annoying look that he had discreetly thrown at his sister. However, Andrew was too excited to notice. "I've been hearing about it...about all those lighting lamps on a new moon night and all."

Gobind craned his neck and beamed at the young man brimming with excitement.

"Right you are sir! I'm sure Chandranagara will be decked up as a bride right now."

"Don't fuel Andrew and his poetic notions, Gobind," said Lilian disapprovingly with a yawn. "Wake me up when we get there."

They were silent for a while the carriage bumping occasionally and Gobind speaking in low tones to urge the horses forward. Andrew had returned to his book, reading with undivided attention and Dave continued to stare out from the carriage window.

He had a lot in his mind than his two companions. For a moment he envied Lilian for all she had to worry about the entire situation was dust and heat. Of cause, even Andrew although he was a very dear friend, did not know the real reason behind his wariness. He stared at the rolling landscape which was hauntingly familiar and felt the bitter whiplash of resurfacing memories. Nightmares were something he had learned to tolerate, perhaps with time he would learn to cope with the ghosts of his past as well.

After a while, Andrew reached across and waved a hand in front of his sister's face, getting no response, he sat up straighter and shut the book in his hand with a snap.

"She's still hung up about missing the season in London," he said emphatically opening the conversation. "My sister was created for gowns and balls, not ships and maps."

"I don't mind her," Dave replied indifferently. "It is not in the nature of Lilian Kent to sit still while you drag her across a desert."

"You'd think we begged her to accompany us," muttered Andrew casting a dark look at Lilian's sleeping form. Her head lolled from side to side with the swaying carriage, some of her red curls having escaped their complicated hair - do, littered on her forehead.

"Obviously, she needed an audience for her complaints," Dave pointed out. "If the only audience she has is going out, she will follow."

"You, my friend, should write a book on my sister. It will avert a large deal of disasters!" Andrew chuckled and pretended to seriously consider it. "What shall we name it then? Lillian Kent Revealed? Or the Mysterious Miss Kent?"

"Writing is your forte, not mine." Dave shrugged, his eyes continuing to linger on the landscape. "I've never been good with words..."

"In writing perhaps," said Andrew his tone tinted in admiration. "But you've always been a master at spinning webs of words."

"It'll do us a world of good to keep silent about that particular talent of mine."

Andrew gave his friend a thoughtfully shrewd look.

"What do you really think of this Nawab of Chandranagara?"

"It's better if I do not think of him at all," sighed Dave, finally dragging his eyes back inside the carriage and facing his friend. "He is simply means to an end."

"Aren't we the same thing for him?" Dave chose not to reply to that and Andrew pressed on. "I don't think he is impressed with knowing we have connections to Madhavgad as well."

"He is not exactly in a position to dictate with whom we associate," said Dave slowly. "On the contrary I believe one of the reasons of him reaching out to us, is our connections with the enemy. The Nawab could be many things, he is not a fool and that, my friend, is dangerous. You don't play with pawns that can think for itself."

They fell silent again, but only for a moment.

"I'm very excited to see Chandranagara for real," Andrew said then, looking at his azure eyes gleaming in the hues of setting sun, Dave did not doubt his words. "I mean, who wouldn't after hearing all those strange rumours that surround the place."

Dave was amused at his friend's ability to move between topics with no connection with such ease, but he was not very comfortable with his choice of conversation.

"Don't tell me you're planning to write a book on the cursed princess, Mr. Kent, I advise you against it strongly." He said rather darkly, much to Andrew's disappointment.

Andrew clicked his tongue at the tasteless tone Dave had employed and rubbed his palms together instead.

"But, don't you think it's awfully romantic to think that there's this lady, a royal by birth who has never ever seen the sun?"

Dave looked at his friend annoyingly to find him gazing into the distance with a blissfully blank expression on his face. He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, he forgot why Andrew Kent was not your ideal companion for conspiracies and his dear friend would remind him in a rather cruel way.

"No." He said shortly.

"Oh, how unfortunate!" Andrew told him, as if he was truly grieving for his friend's loss of imagination. "I'm sure that princess is waiting for a valiant knight to save her from her cursed fate. Probably at this very moment she might be looking out of her tower!"

"How unfortunate indeed," Dave repeated his words, sarcastically.

On their horizon Chandranagara rose as a mass of haphazard shapes and the sun finally disappeared from a blood red sky.

**

Sitting comfortably in his divan, a hand bejewelled with many precious stones resting on a cushion, Akif Fisal Khan looked very different from his former self. However, under his turban that flaunted his rank and the single feather of vulture in it, his frown was very similar to that of yore. His burning eyes were set on his Bakshi (military advisor), as the man trembled an involuntary step backwards.

"Receive them? Receive them? I - Nawab Akif Fisal Khan - receive a -"he waved his hand around for a better term and at the lack of one spat out, " - an envoy?"

Bakshi quivered but did not waver. He winced at the way Khan had put it, but gulped and put forth his own opinion as well.

"Lord McLane has insisted upon it, my lord. Otherwise I would have never dared to suggest that -" he swallowed repeating the bitter part of his advice and continued. "He holds his son in very high regard."

"A mistake very many of great men end up doing," commented Khan darkly. "I still do not see why we cannot deal with this -" another wave of his bejewelled hand. "Lord McLane himself. What is the need of going through his son?"

"Lord McLane doesn't want to appear distrustful to Madavghad at the moment sire," explained Bakshi, who looked finally relieved at having managed to extract a question that he could in fact answer without hesitation. "He has reminded in his response that Madavghad's trust in him is valuable for both of us."

Khan looked annoyed, but did not rebuke Bakshi, instead his frown deepened, almost knotting his bushy henna coloured brows.

"And you think he is right..." He said coldly.

"I dare say there is logic in his words sire," said Bakshi cautiously.

He did not want to appear as if he held another man of rank, especially a foreigner in high regard. However, he could not help but admire the wit in Lord McLane. "You see, this son of his is rather removed from the political games of his father. He is a painter, a traveller, a voyager if you will - a man whose visit to a kingdom need not necessarily be attached to any political purpose."

"A painter?" This time distaste dripped from Khan's tone and Bakshi was reminded of the man's views on males who did not engage themselves in warfare.

Perhaps, he wetted his lips as he thought; he should not have mentioned that particular detail.

"Meaning, he has no experience in armed combat? Tell me Bakshi, do you want me - the general who has never lost a battle for his emperor - go and receive a flowery excuse of a boy?"

"I've heard he has great deduction skills, since both my lord and lord McLane wants to catch the hidden rebels of Chandranagara, I believe the boy's talent and observations might come in handy in that operation."

"I will not go!" Khan stated angry blotches of red appearing on his left cheek and the scar in his right cheek looked more monstrous if possible.

Bakshi sighed; he wished it did not come to that. But it seemed his superior left no other ways of being convinced. Sighing a little, the man inched closer enough so that his whisper was only shared with Khan and no one else, although they were the only people present in much large court chamber at the moment.

"Lord McLane has expressed his interest in assisting you on your other aim as well my lord," he whispered, choosing his words carefully. Khan's eyes narrowed slightly. "I believe, it is not the father but the son who is the master mind behind their elaborate scheming. If you had his support secured, even the changing tides will not affect your voyage sire."

"And what is it that you propose?"

"We must portray ourselves useful to McLane now. At this moment, it is only the business ties that we have for our advantage. We cannot under any circumstance lose our contact of supplying cotton to them, or it would be a huge blow on the treasury sire. I'm afraid if - may Allah forgive me - we're to offend the junior McLane, he might convince his father that we are against the growing business influence of his people in our markets."

Khan stood up suddenly and Bakshi took a stunned step backwards.

"Please appease your anger sire!" He beseeched. Khan gave him an exasperated look.

"Lead the way," he said curtly. "Let's get this over with."

It took Bakshi a few moments to comprehend what he has heard. Elated the little man bounced out of the court chamber, leading his brooding Nawab to the decorated entrance, where a party was already gathered to welcome the approaching guests.

It seemed Bakshi and Nawab was just in time to receive them, for the carriage rolled in almost a minute later. Khan still supported the frown and stood rigid and tall among his party as the carriage finally pulled up to the stone paved front area of the Chandranagara citadel. Behind them the large gates were shut and bared. A small, dark and balding man who was the driver of the carriage jumped down first, he had spoken a few words with the stable hands who had come up to tend the horses and handed the reins over, before bowing at the Chandranagara crowd and stepping back to help his masters descend.

The first to come out was a studious looking young man. His limbs were too long and lanky, his hair a dark brown and his skin pale except for the angry red blotches were the sun had burned him. He looked at them all good naturedly, removing his cap in honour for the high ranking local officials awaiting him and eagerly assisted a woman to climb out of the carriage.

There was a collective gasp as the lady descended delicately. Her hair was the strangest of colours they had ever seen; they were red and curly. She had a rather stiff posture and her nose scrunched in a decided displeasure as she noted her surroundings.

Finally, David McLane made his way out of the carriage. His dark grey eyes swept over the crowd of spectators and rested upon the icy gaze of Khan. Something, akin to recognition flickered across the older man's expression. At the same time a glint of poison flashed in Dave's eyes. Both men held each other's gazes for a long minute, before Khan had abruptly addressed Bakshi in a lower tone.

"Did it slip your mind to mention that lord McLane's famed son is a native, Bakshi?"

Bakshi himself looked a little bewildered. Set against his two fair skinned, lighter eyed companions, Dave McLane's duskier complexion was contrasting. There was no doubt that he was an Asian, if not a man of their own lands.

"Forgive me, my lord, I am as surprised as you are!"

Khan clicked his tongue; his eyes flashing like a serpent's would at the sight of a denied prey.

"I believe, I'm about to find some more things that will surprise you greatly as well, my ever obedient Bakshi..."

**

It seems Akif and David has some shared skeletons in a closet.
What do you think of their first meeting? Do let me know your views in the comments! And yes, don't forget to vote!
Thank you!