Bloodlines (On hold)

All in The Beginning

The Desert of Matsya
3360

There was nothing but the blinding, blazing sun. It was like even Surya was punishing them. They moved slowly, every step forward an overwhelming effort as weariness overcame their will to live. The brightness was beyond bearing; all they could see was an endless golden shimmer.

The young woman smirked, bitter. Perhaps we're already dead, and in Indra's heaven.

But then there were the vultures. The intense haze made it easier to ignore the scavengers, but once in a while she spotted a lone bird perched either on a dead tree or on some debris, watching them keenly. It took her some time to realize that it was the same creature following them, moving as they moved.

It's waiting for us to die.

She calmly met the vulture's gaze. The bird no longer inspired fear or revulsion, not since she had come to terms with all that had happened.

We brought this upon ourselves. We deserve this for trusting that scum, those godless peoples... A curse on the head of every Daivyas.

Daivyas. The order of scholars promised a great revolution, a time when man and his harvest would depend on the fickle gods less and his own will more. The river's course, they said, could be made to move, to feed the lands, turn the most barren earth into verdant bounty. It would be, they had promised, an era of unrivalled prosperity for the whole empire of Aryavarta. An age when humans would defy the might of the gods. An age where they will play god in all glory of Divya Prakash.

We deserve this for our blasphemy.

The lands the two travellers crossed had once been seasonal but fertile. Now, they lay fallow and the earth had splintered in patterns of horror. The vast river had slowed to a trickle, the skies had turned stark and cloudless and the furrows on the land had deepened further till it had all become the same – one endless desert, with neither a drop of water below nor a cloud above.

Tears welled up, unbidden, and as her vision blurred she stumbled. The man walking behind her rushed forward to help. "Princess!"

She waved him back. Princess! Hah! She, Satya, was the daughter of the mighty Emperor of Aryavarta, a woman destined to be a queen. And now it had come to this. She was nothing more than a refugee. Like the rest of her people, the few who still lived, who were now trying to flee the forsaken land that had once been their bountiful home.

The man passed her the small waterskin that hung from his shoulder. She took it with a grateful smile and drew a careful sip. The water had to last them all the way till their destination, an insignificant village of fishermen far enough across the desert to remain blissfully unaffected by their tragedy. It was the one place that her father believed she could be safe. Perhaps he had hoped that under the care of his old friend she could somehow begin a new life.

The princess made a solemn promise to herself, renewing it as she had every day for what had been a short while, though it now felt like years: She would live. And she would have her revenge. The need to destroy those who had destroyed everything she had ever held dear – her people, her home, her very belief in human goodness – burned in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes and savoured the feeling, letting it fuel her tired limbs.

That night, she and her guard made camp under the stars. They needed protection neither from the cold nor from wild beasts. Nothing had survived the drought. The princess wrapped herself up in her tattered cloak and lay down, while the guard sat a few feet away, keeping watch. She slept, and dreamt she was running across endless green fields, laughing and playing, while a great river gurgled along at her side wherever she went.