Meanwhile Jhestal continued, voice uplifted, certain none would dare oppose him, ‘But the good Xath should not be ignored as she often is in our single-eyed devotion to Yama. Life needs life. A life given, not out of necessity, as in death, war or famine. No. No. Such events lead the soul to Yama. Xath desires not what is rightfully her brother’s.’

The other priests stepped out on either side of Jhestal in semi-circles that simulated the stretching of wings. They stood silently, their faces hidden behind their ghastly masks, carved into animal faces. It was no secret that the Acolytes of Unni Ehtral often blinded themselves in one eye, and sometimes both if they were in a particularly compulsive religious fervour.

‘A life given out of choice is a gift. To the cause of a just War, born not of base desire for conquest and imperialism, but love.’

The screams of children, as they were raised on poles, reverberated in the arena. Shishupal gasped, his mind unwilling to comprehend. This had gone…too far. The prisoners were covered with death-flies. They crawled over their faces in aimless paths. Shishupal’s gaze fell on the girl closest to where he stood. Blood still flowed from where nails had been driven through flesh and bone. She had no eyes, her breasts had been chopped off… yet her chest was heaving. Molten anger flooded Shishupal’s heart. The girl is still alive. They all are!

‘Goddess of Light and Life,’ Jhestal intoned in a voice as deep as hell, ‘let the sacrifices of these Kauntiyas usher in blessings to our good Emperor. Bless him with iron. Bless him with steel. Bless him with blood.’

The acolytes and the crowd chanted: Bless him with blood.

Bile rose in Shishupal’s throat but he forced it down. Chants rose around the arena, in the name of Xath and Yama. Shishupal could barely suppress his urge to push Jhestal from the royal enclosure to his death below. The bodies of the children continued to dangle an arm’s length above the ground as the stones below them became stained crimson. Shishupal turned to look at the Emperor, aghast, a foolish part of his mind still believing Jarasandh would put a stop to this. But the Emperor rose, bowed slightly to the Priest, and departed.

‘Oh Yama, if you truly are a God, have mercy, mercy on these children…’ Shishupal whispered. ‘Surely the Emperor cannot have sanctioned this! It is a period of Armistice, peace. This…is unnecessary.’ Even as he said the words, he knew he was wrong.

‘Was there ever a war where people have not bled unnecessarily, Lord Shishupal?’ Visharada spoke beside him, shaking his head, his eyes vacant of all emotion. ‘The simple truth, Commander, is that torture is unnecessary.’

‘But these are your people, innocent children!’

‘Aye,’ Visharada agreed. ‘I made a choice. I chose Mathura. Now I must make my peace with the outcome.’