Chapter 3: The Witness

In which Ahala loses sight of Timir and then hears a story.

Vijayendra Mohanty

May 14, 2026

“You think your god will save you?”

Timir opened an eye and examined the darkening sky. “We’ve been moving east for how many hours now?”

“No more than two, I think,” Ahala said.

“You should return then beautiful,” Timir said, closing his eyes and lying back down. “Koru will be upon us soon.”

Ahala was about to ask him what he meant when the bickering inside ceased and the jadukar emerged from the constabulary looking like he was going to set the place on fire. She only had time to fling one last whisper at him, “What is your name?”

“Timir,” he replied before the carriage resumed lurching ahead. Ahala stood there until the first raindrops started touching the back of her neck. She noticed, as she pulled up her headscarf and started heading back, that the sky was promising a storm.

There was no news from Aramba for a month, aside from the usual proclamations from their council and an occasional rebel raid on their supply wagons. The rains had been merciless and all the ships that had stopped at Sueila before the season began were still anchored there. The city’s nobles were hosting some of the larger ships’ captains in their palatial homes and portside inns were full of sailors and those they brought to their beds most nights. After nights of drunken revelry, they were back in taverns by midday for more drunken revelry.

Ahala spotted the Aramban soldier one such rainy afternoon in a tavern near her shop. He was without his spear and his regimental garb and what he did have on had seen better days, much as he seemed to have. He sat drinking from a battered wooden mug mere paces from where she stood listening to a rebel member of the metalworkers guild talk about the need to unite against the Arambans before it was too late. She had been attending more of these meetings lately, now that the monsoon had trapped the Arambans in Sueila and their local Commandants were going easy on resistance meetings for fear of forcing their hand into starting something they didn’t have the numbers to end.

“You are part of the Aramban regiment, are you not?” Ahala said and found no recognition of her in his bloodshot eyes when he turned to look at her. As far as he was concerned, their encounter seemed to have happened in another age. Also, he seemed to have been crying.

“Leave me be,” he said. “You can have your little meetings. See if I care!”

“You were with the prisoner,” Ahala said.

The soldier looked up, the keenness returning to his eyes along with a nameless dread. “Which prisoner?”

“The… rakshas? You were with the jadukar who were taking him to Aramba… in a cage… Do you remember?”

The soldier stared at her, remembering. “You were there too. I remember you now. You were speaking to him.” He stood abruptly up, knocking back his chair. “You know him!”

“I met him on the same day you did, not long before you, by the port,” Ahala said calmly. The soldier stared at her like a madman, then looked around and realised he was surrounded by Sueilians and checked his disquiet before sitting back down.

“Did you take him to Aramba?” Ahala asked.

The soldier shook his head and quietly took a sip of his drink.

“Is he here in town?” Ahala asked.

“I don’t know where he is,” the soldier said, his voice breaking. “And I should thank almighty Reho if I never have to lay eyes on that abomination again.”

Ahala waited until his breathing returned to normal before touching his hand gently and saying, “Tell me what happened.”