Free Shadow of the Giant by Orson Scott Card

movements with her hands, then drew three fingers backhanded across her forehead.
    “I am Mother India,” she said. “Fight for me, my children.”
    Her image remained on the screen as all motion stopped.
    Peter looked from Bean to Petra and back again. “So my question is simple enough. Is she insane? Does she really believe she’s a god? And will this work?”
    “What was that business at the end, with the fingers on her forehead?” asked Bean.
    “She was drawing the mark of Shiva the Destroyer on her forehead,” said Peter. “It was a call to war.” He sighed. “They’ll be destroyed.”
    “Who?” said Petra.
    “Her followers,” said Peter.
    “Alai won’t let them,” said Bean.
    “If he tries to stop them, he’ll fail,” said Peter. “Which may be what she wants.”
    “No,” said Petra. “Don’t you see? The Muslim occupation of India absolutely counts on supplying their armies from Indian produce and Indian revenues. But Shiva will be there first. They’ll destroy their own crops rather than let the Muslims have it.”
    “Then they’ll die in famine,” said Peter.
    “And they’ll absorb many bullets,” said Petra, “and beheaded Hindu bodies will litter the ground. But then the Muslims will run out of bullets and they’ll discover that they can’t get more because the roads are blocked. And for every Hindu they killed, there will be ten more to overwhelm them with their bare hands. Virlomi understands her nation. Her people.”
    “And all of this you understand,” said Peter, “because you were a prisoner in India for a few months?”
    “India has never been led into war by a god,” said Petra. “India has never gone to war with perfect unity.”
    “A guerrilla war,” insisted Peter.
    “You’ll see,” said Petra. “Virlomi knows what she’s doing.”
    “She wasn’t even part of Ender’s Jeesh,” said Peter. “Alai was. So he’s smarter, right?”
    Petra and Bean looked at each other.
    “Peter, it’s not about brains,” said Bean. “It’s about playing the hand you’re dealt.”
    “Virlomi has the stronger hand,” said Petra.
    “I don’t see it,” said Peter. “What am I missing?”
    “Han Tzu won’t just sit there while the Muslim armies try to subdue India. The Muslim supply lines either run across the vast Asian desert or through India or by sea from Indonesia. If the Indian supply lines are cut, how long can Alai hold his armies there in numbers sufficient to keep Han Tzu contained?”
    Peter nodded. “So you think Alai will run out of food and bullets before Virlomi runs out of Indians.”
    “I think,” said Bean, “that what we just saw was a marriage proposal.”
    Peter laughed. But since Bean and Petra weren’t laughing…“What are you talking about?”
    “Virlomi is India,” said Bean. “She just said so. And Han Tzu is China. And Alai is Islam. So will it be India and China against the world, or Islam and India against the world? Who can sell that marriage to their own people? Which throne will sit beside the throne of India? Whichever one it is, that’s more than half the population of the world, united.”
    Peter closed his eyes. “So we don’t want either to happen.”
    “Don’t worry,” said Bean. “Whichever happens, it won’t last.”
    “You’re not always right,” said Peter. “You can’t see that far ahead.”
    Bean shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be dead before it all shakes out.”
    Petra growled and stood up and paced.
    “I don’t know what to do,” said Peter. “I tried to talk to Alai, and all I did was provoke a coup. Or rather, Petra did that.” He couldn’t hide his annoyance. “I wanted him to control his people, but they’re out of control. They’re roasting cows in the streets of Madras and Bombay and then killing the Hindus who riot. They’re beheading any Indian that someone accuses of being a lapsed Muslim—or even the grandchild of lapsed Muslims. Do I just sit here and watch