The Library of Fates

by Aditi Khorana

  Varun

  “Bring her back?” I said aloud to the bird before I turned back to Thala. I felt for her pulse and feared the worst. It was weak and slow, barely audible, but I knew I couldn’t give up. I had the antidote. Or at least part of it.

  “Are you coming with me?” I asked the bird. It watched me, turning its head to one side. “I’m going to call you Saaras,” I said to it, remembering a story Mala used to tell me about a bird named Saaras.

  I took off in search of the silver tree, scouring the woods, Saaras following me as I dodged between massive tree trunks.

  “Silver in the moonlight, silver in the moonlight,” I kept repeating to myself.

  I wondered why Varun hadn’t returned. I buried my feelings of disappointment and reminded myself that I had more important things to worry about. I was also simultaneously relieved that my instincts about him hadn’t been wrong: He did want to help us. He wasn’t trying to harm us.

  Saaras and I wandered the forest for some time before I saw it. We were deep in the woods, and it was dark, but the tree was unmistakable—it practically glowed silver in the moonlight.

  “There it is!” I whispered. I pulled my dagger from the waistband of my salvar, but as I approached the tree, my hand hit an invisible wall, sending a slight electric shock down my arm.

  “What the—” I pressed my palm against the wall, and this time, it sparked at my touch, frightening me. “What is this?” I asked as I slowly circled the tree, realizing that there was some strange sort of unseen shield around it that prevented me from accessing it. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” I turned to Saaras, as though he might have some suggestions. He simply stared back at me, mute.

  I thrust my dagger at the invisible wall, but it clanged against nothing and rebounded back toward me. My heart was beginning to race with panic. I got down on my knees, trying to find the roots of the tree, to no avail. They were protected under the strange invisible field too.

  I stood up on my toes and tried to reach for a branch, but once again, I was stumped. The tree was somehow protected by a force that was out of my control.

  I wondered if there was another silver tree before I collected myself and went in search of it, wandering the forest till the white wedge of the moon began to sink into the horizon. I was frantic by now, tripping over roots and dodging under low branches, the smell of eucalyptus the only thing helping to calm my frayed nerves. But it was clear that there was only one silver tree.

  We circled back to it, and I must have spent another hour trying to drive my dagger into the wall, throwing my body against it. Still nothing. Finally, I collapsed to the ground in frustration, tears streaming down my cheeks, my palms covered with dirt.

  “Please!” I said to the tree. “My friend is sick. She might even be dead. All I want is to help her. Don’t you understand? I need to help her!” I was sobbing by now at the thought of Thala dying, all because I couldn’t procure the antidote she needed.

  Slowly, I pulled myself together and stood up, reaching my hand against the wall to catch my balance, and what happened next stunned me. The wall had disappeared, and I stumbled against the tree itself.

  “How did that—” But it didn’t matter. With my dagger, I peeled off the tiniest bit of bark, and as I did, I noticed a drop of red rolling down the trunk of the tree.

  “Is it . . . blood?” I asked Saaras.

  I wondered if I was hallucinating as I added a pinch of the bark of the silver tree to the vial. It fizzed before it turned silver in the moonlight.

  I still had a piece of bark in my hand. I tucked it into my blouse, in case I needed it later.

  I looked at the tree. I felt the need to acknowledge its aid in some way. “Thank you,” I said, and its branches appeared to bow down before me, causing me to jump. I turned and ran all the way back to Thala.

  There was dew on the grass by Thala’s feet, and I collected a couple of drops on my fingers, adding them to the mixture. This time, it gurgled. I opened Thala’s mouth, tipped her head back, and poured the contents of the vial down her throat.

  “Please work,” I said to it, and then I remembered Varun’s note.

  “Please, earth, sky, sun, rain, wind. Whoever is listening, whoever has the power to help. Help my friend stay alive,” I whispered. I couldn’t believe I was asking these forces to help me. It sounded like . . . magic, and yet, I was willing to do anything to make Thala better. “She’s been through too much.” I wiped my tears on the back of my hand as Saaras looked on.

  I turned to him. “She’ll be all right, won’t she?”

  I was drenched in sweat, stretched taut with a panic I had never before experienced, but I still had hope.

  Saaras watched me carefully, and I couldn’t help but think that he knew what I was asking, that he understood. And for that moment, it was enough.

  Twenty

  I ROSE WITH THE SUN, questions burning on my lips, the journey ahead already unspooling within me.

  “Thala,” I said aloud, remembering yesterday’s ordeal, her suffering, and my terror, and then in the same breath, I admonished myself. I couldn’t believe I had fallen asleep. I jumped up. Thala wasn’t under the base of the tree where I had left her.

  “Thala?” I cried out. I circled the tree, finding her cross-legged on the other side of its trunk, petting Saaras.

  She turned to face me. “Morning,” she said. “How did you sleep?” There were dark rings under her eyes, and her lips were cracked. But she was alive.

  I exhaled slowly, the tightness within me finally loosening into relief.

  “I wanted to let you rest,” she said, her forehead filled with concerned creases. “I think I’m . . . all right. Did you see this?” she asked me, holding up a satchel so small, it fit perfectly into her palm. “It’s herbs, for your feet. He had it tied to his collar.”

  So Varun had noticed my feet too. I wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that he had saved us, sending us some sort of magical potion that had brought Thala back from the edge of death.

  All I knew was that I wanted to see him again. It was as though I could feel some sort of magnetic pull toward him. I shook away the thought, remembering that just a few days ago, I was professing my love to Arjun.

  I took a deep breath, and the strong scent of eucalyptus saturated my lungs. I looked around. For the first time, I really saw the forest. The entire day and night before, I had been so consumed by Thala’s state, I didn’t even see how beautiful it was. Tall, stately trees, their branches reaching toward the sky, their leaves delicate and long and papery. And the tree that had given us refuge—it was a special one, a banyan. I returned to it, running my hands over its long limbs—branches turning to roots, and roots reaching up to the branches. My hand stopped at the tree trunk, just above the ground. Someone had carved three equidistant circles, painted them red. They matched the symbol on my dagger. I traced the symbol with my finger.

  “Let me put this medicine on your feet,” Thala said. “You should thank him, the boy who helped us,” she added, handing me the bit of parchment that was attached to the vial I had given her. I searched though my satchel, found a quill, and began to write.

  Varun,

  I don’t know how to thank you. Thala is alive and well. We’re headed to Mount Moutza and then beyond. I hope I see you again. You came to our aid when we most needed it, and I can never repay you.

  I hesitated.

  “What are you thinking?” Thala asked. She had covered my feet with leaves that she had moistened with the medicine from the vial. As she removed them, I gasped. All my cuts and scrapes were gone. But my attention turned back to the note in my hand.

  “I . . . don’t know how much I can tell him.”

  “Then send him this,” Thala said, pulling my diamond shoe from my satchel. “Tell him to get it to your Arjun.”

  “
I don’t want to put him in danger,” I told her. “He helped us.”

  “He wanted to,” Thala said.

  “He’s just a boy, our age. How would he sneak into the palace? We’re under siege.”

  Thala pointed to Saaras. “That’s how,” she said. “Tell Varun you’re headed to the Janaka Caves and stopping at the temple on the way. Tell him to communicate with Arjun through Saaras, and that Arjun can do the same.”

  It was so brilliant, I threw my arms around Thala. Then I turned my attention back to the note, scribbling my plea and a set of instructions. I finished and tied it to the bird’s foot, instructing him to get it to Varun.

  He nuzzled my hand before we watched him fly back toward Ananta, and I couldn’t help but feel a little wistful at his departure. I turned to Thala.

  “Ready?” she asked me.

  “You’re sure you can make it?”

  “I’ve never been more certain in my life.”

  It was clear now, what we needed to do: take the path to Mount Moutza, warn the Sybillines, find the Library of All Things.

  Twenty-One

  CUT OUT OF THE RED MOUNTAIN ROCKS, it stood, majestic and stately against the bluest sky I had ever seen. Pillared colonnades buttressed a high roof that curved like a rust-colored sail over the lofty complex. The entry to the temple was a square opening in the rock.

  Across the hilltop, lines of prayer flags flapped in the wind. And in between the crevices in the rocks, small bits of parchment, each carrying a long-held wish, a plea, a prayer. Millions of appeals and entreaties, carefully placed into walls of the temple. I wondered if Maya the Diviner could see them, hear them, feel them. I wondered if she really had the capacity to make wishes come true.

  “It’s . . . amazing,” I said. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen.” I wandered toward the entrance, past a steady stream of crowds strolling in and out of the massive structure.

  I looked at the elaborate carvings across the edifice of the temple, relaying a story as old as the temple itself. They reminded me of the carvings inside the Temple of Rain, etched by a skilled hand, someone who sought to record and relay old truths. I wondered if those truths had any bearing on our lives.

  I understood, as I stood there, that I would petition her too, with all my prayers, all my pleas, just as people had done for hundreds of years before me, just as my father had done. I wondered what he had come here to ask for.

  Varun was right. Mount Moutza wasn’t just beautiful. It was otherworldy. It was befitting that we were celebrating Thala’s return to us on the Mountain of Miracles. I swallowed hard at the thought that I might have lost her. I smiled at her, grateful for her company.

  “Can you imagine that this place was once home for the vetalas?” I asked.

  Thala glanced at me, a surprised look on her face. “Since when did you start believing in all that?”

  I blushed, thinking of Varun. I didn’t know what to say, so I just shrugged. “There’s no way to know they aren’t real,” I said.

  Shree had taught Arjun and me to be critical, discerning, to never take anything literally. Mala had offered us a string of myths and stories, intertwined together. What these two women had given me were two separate and distinct parts of my life: practicality, strategy, and logic from Shree. Magic from Mala. But I had always kept them separate, and yet, after Varun told me the story of Maya the Diviner, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe that there was magic woven into the world in which we lived, something underneath the surface of what we could see, an entire universe we didn’t quite understand, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t exist.

  I also wanted to believe in something. I had lost everything I had ever known. All I had now were stories, words, and hope. Those were the things I needed to hold on to tightly, or I would feel adrift in an ocean that I didn’t have the skills or wherewithal to navigate.

  I glanced around, making sure Sikander’s men weren’t following us, but I felt safe here. Besides, we continued to be well-disguised with our scarves covering our faces. We looked like Bedouins, Thala and I. Not like what we really were. A princess. An oracle.

  “Let’s rest here a moment,” I said, glancing at Thala’s tired eyes. “I’ll get us something to eat.” With a handful of sikkas, I bought us two fists full of bright purple figs, speckled green oranges, and some walnuts roasted with sugarcane from a friendly-faced vendor who threw a strand of marigolds into my hands.

  I thanked him before I returned to Thala, handing her a fig. She inspected it carefully, and even though I couldn’t see all of her face, I could tell from her eyes that she was smiling, delighted.

  She looked up at me. “For years, they fed me slop,” she said. “Look at this, how pretty it is. The perfect fruit.” She took a bite of it, closing her eyes, savoring the taste.

  She turned, looking out into the distance. I followed her gaze. I could see Lake Chanakya, the palace, the entire city of Ananta. The kingdom was vast, and I could make out every part of it from this vantage point—the city, a major metropolis bustling with activity and trade, tiny carriages and horses winding up and down the lanes, but also the tea plantations built like concentric amphitheaters, the purple mountains to the east, and the Silk Road, a long stone avenue cutting through it all.

  “When they built this temple, none of that existed,” I pointed out. “It was probably all plains and meadows and forest.”

  My heart sank at my own words as I thought about everything that had changed in a couple of days for me. And yet, a wisp of hope was growing within me. Returning from the worst experience of one’s life was possible: Thala had taught me that.

  “We’ll go in, say a prayer. Then we’ll get two horses and head to the Janaka Caves,” I told Thala.

  Thala nodded, but she looked uncertain.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “They say human plans are opportunities for entertainment for the immortals.”

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” I asked.

  Thala hesitated. “Maybe we shouldn’t go in.”

  “What do you mean? Meena said we should stop here, and Varun . . .”

  “It could be dangerous.”

  “It’s a temple,” I said. “It’s probably the only place where we are safe in all of Shalingar.”

  She nodded her head slowly, but I could tell that she sensed something was not quite right. And yet, I felt propelled toward the temple in a way I couldn’t even understand.

  “I think I have to go inside,” I said to her.

  She nodded. “I think you do too. But I’m also afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  She shook her head. “Something dangerous. Something I can’t quite see,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s like that occasionally—I told you I can’t see everything.”

  “I know,” I told her. “But we’ll have to take the chance.”

  ¤

  Heat radiated from the walls as though the rocks themselves were nursing a burning fever. Swarms of people were packed like fish caught in a net, except they weren’t trapped. They wanted to be here.

  They had come from so many different walks of life: the young and the old, monks and scholars, locals, some foreigners that I could recognize from their strange and unique clothes. There were wanderers, carrying their belongings on their backs. The sick and the injured with bandages on their limbs. Newlyweds at the beginning of their journey together, asking for blessings. All of them swirling toward a golden statue that I could barely glimpse because all I could see was the mash of packed bodies before me.

  I reached for Thala’s hand to make sure we stayed close and didn’t lose each other, but also because the claustrophobia was making me nervous. Beads of sweat were forming on my upper lip, and I wanted to rip my scarf away, but I knew I couldn’t. The very idea of anyone recognizing me terrified me, and yet
I was struggling to breathe.

  I squinted at the gold statue, her feet strewn with garlands made of marigolds and jasmine. People clamoring to touch her feet, catch a glimpse of her.

  “That must be her—Maya the Diviner,” I whispered to Thala, but I still couldn’t see her.

  I felt an urgency to touch the statue, to stand before it and make my plea, beg her to give us her blessings for our journey. I wondered if she could quell all the anxiety and fear swimming through the murky waters of my mind.

  As I contemplated this, I realized that I, myself, had changed in some way. I had somehow become the kind of person who sought blessings and hope from a statue, who believed in magic. And I wasn’t ashamed of this.

  If so many of my father’s own subjects believed that Maya the Diviner could help them, could save them, if even my father had made this journey so many times over the course of his life, who was I to turn my nose up at it?

  Finally, we were close, almost before her. I squeezed my way through shoulders and elbows, and finally the crowds parted and there she was. I glanced at her gilded feet, the fabric draped over her auric legs. Her exposed shoulders, shimmering in the light, and in her hand, a dagger with three rubies on its side—exactly like the one Mala had given me.

  I looked up at her face, and my heart stopped.

  The face I was looking into was my own.

  Twenty-Two

  “THERE! THERE THEY ARE! Get them, now!” My head snapped back as though it were on a string. I wasn’t the only one. All around me, people halted their prayers and their pleas, pieces of parchment hovering midair between their fingers as they turned to look at him.