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The Heartless Divine

Page 42

by Varsha Ravi


  The walk calmed his nerves—surprisingly, the cold latte helped a little, too. By the time he rounded the curve of the intersection, the glitter of the gates in the distance, he felt a little closer to his initial excitement. He tossed the empty latte cup in a nearby bin and continued up the street.

  Viro always listened to his music near maximum volume. It was a common side effect of spending the majority of his adolescence listening to music as loud as it could go—his ears had given up on anything remotely near low volume. A nice, quiet song was played at half volume. If he wanted to feel anything, he had it at max.

  Right now, he wanted to feel everything.

  He could hear the music in his bones, and it washed the remnants of his anxiety away. But it also made him vulnerable in a way he had never really thought to worry about. It wasn’t that he was particularly gullible—though he had a tendency toward it, at times. It was more that the possibility of being kidnapped had never truly seemed like something worth considering. Kidnappings were something made for news broadcasts, for high-stakes thrillers and fiction.

  The first thing he registered was the sickly-sweet smell; the second was the wet cloth. The third—that was the blackness, the sheer emptiness that came with loss of sensation.

  That was what he remembered most, after everything happened. That simple, cutting lack of feeling. The knowledge that what he had once known had been ripped from him with vicious, uncaring fingers, stolen. In the blink of an eye, everything familiar disappeared.

  The door on the van—entirely white, painted in broad, black strokes with some old sigil no one who noticed it recognized—slammed shut and drove off, leaving no sign they had stopped in the first place. But, on the asphalt beside the iron gates, there laid a severed metal charm, painted gold and silver. From a ring, two stars hung.

  Glossary

  Athrian

  angadi: central markets

  arrack: distilled alcohol drink made from fermented sap of coconut flowers or sugarcane

  atha: older sister

  kagha: large black bird of prey

  kantal: gloriosa superba / flame lily

  kita: gemstone naturally found in Niravu mountains, bluish-purple and clear mineral

  magizham: mimusops elengi / bullet wood

  nakshi: war dog — from “nak” (war) and “shi” (dog)

  olai chuvadi: dried palm leaves used to document information

  sirai maravuri: wood fiber cloth

  thyva: blessed/divine — from old Enesmati “thyva” (heaven, home of the gods)

  thyvaayan: prophet, “voice of the gods” — from “thyva” (blessed) and “aayan” (voice)

  unthi: vase traditionally used to clean idols in religious services

  uttriyasi: soulmates, “eternal love” — from “uttri” (forever) and “asi” (love)

  yavana: westerner, refers to Europeans

  Najan

  anda: grandmother, affectionate term for old lady

  hehyava: reaper, “daughter of the blood spring — from “hehya” (blood spring) and “ava” (girl)

  muru: granddaughter

  St. Idhrishti: patron saint, prince of Naja who fell in love with a star and died tragically

  Enesmati

  Ashri: goddess of the heavens; sun and sky

  Kazha: mother goddess, goddess of the earth, love, and family

  Avya: god of fire

  Makai: goddess of the sea and water

  Nila: goddess of the moon

  Athrasakhi: god of wrath and war (lesser god of fire)

  Dhaasan: god of death and rebirth, servant of Asakhi

  Dhaasthur: underworld, land of Asakhi

  -kanth: refers to the festival of a god, most commonly the festival of their birth

  Asakhi: death/rebirth — related: River Asakhi, river of souls

  Acknowledgements

  This novel first came to me when I was younger. Back then, it was little more than an idea, a suggestion of the way the story might end more than anything else. I knew I wanted it to be about love and about fate, and how, in truth, they are both antonyms of one another.

  But it was only until recently that I realized that, more than anything else, I wanted to write a story about freedom, and how the freedom of human choice is a magic in and of itself, left solely for us.

  This novel would have remained merely in my head if not for the support of those around me. Thank you to Tanya Mead for taking on my project and helping me polish my prose. Admittedly, I do have a bit of a comma problem.

  Thank you to Alana Abesamis for bringing the story to life in the beautiful cover.

  Thanks to A.K. Ramanujan for his translations of Classical Tamil poetry from Sangam Literature.

  Thank you so, so much to all of the friends who had to put up with me talking about The Book, complaining about sleep deprivation as a result of writing The Book, and the discussions of numerous near-disasters that ensued while trying to juggle schoolwork, college applications, and the process of publishing The Book. All of you are troopers, and your advice was priceless.

  And finally, thank you to my family, for always supporting my passion for writing and for pushing me to challenge myself.

  About the Author

  Varsha Ravi is a senior at California High School. She was born and raised in Illinois, before moving to North Carolina. She is currently living in the Bay Area, California. The Heartless Divine is her first novel.

  She can be reached at www.varsharavi.com.

 

 

 


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