The Library of Fates

by Aditi Khorana

  I stiffened as I watched the men standing before Alexi. What would he do to her? What would he do to us?

  I looked around at the faces of Alexi’s men, noting the resignation in their eyes. I wondered how long they had marched with Sikander’s army. If they had forgotten the tastes and smells of their homes. If they could still remember the faces of their families.

  “You don’t believe me, and you don’t have to,” Thala said. “But if I were you, I’d let us go. If you asked your master, you would know that oracles don’t lie.

  “The tide will turn after the storm,” she told Alexi. “It would be to your benefit to shore up the courage of your men.” I wondered what exactly she meant by this, but Thala’s predictions were often cryptic, and Alexi simply scoffed at her. I wasn’t sure whether his disaffection was mere bravado or if he actually believed her.

  I turned to look at Spiro. His eyes met mine, but he shook his head slowly, like a man who had no control over his own destiny. Still, he spoke up. “If it’s true,” Spiro asked, his voice trembling, “what can we do about a sandstorm? We don’t have supplies.”

  “Turn back, for God’s sake,” Thala said. “Free her.” She gestured to me. “What kind of fool are you? Are you willing to march yourself and your men toward death?”

  “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Alexi yelled.

  “Perhaps she’s right, sir,” Spiro quietly said.

  “Right?” Alexi stood up, barreled toward Spiro, and grabbed the scruff of his shirt in his hand. “You want to believe her? Go ahead then,” he said as he shook a frightened Spiro. “But you’re not coming with us to those caves of magic, you understand?”

  “I understand!” Spiro begged.

  “No, I don’t think you do,” Alexi said. And then he took my dagger, the dagger Mala had given me, and sliced Spiro’s throat open.

  Twenty-Four

  I TRIED TO QUIET MY MIND, begging the desert for help. Even if I die, please keep my friend safe, I asked. I knew no one was listening, but it felt better just to ask.

  It had been a whole day since we had walked away from Spiro’s dead body in the desert, leaving it behind like a thing and not a once-living, breathing person. I remember watching him die, choking on his own blood, falling to his knees before he fell face-first in the sand. I thought about the way my father had died. And Mala. Everywhere I looked, I saw it, again and again. Fear, blood, violence, death.

  I remembered Thala’s words about Spiro. I didn’t even know who he was, much less where exactly he came from in Macedon. I wondered about his mother, his father. How they must have worried about him. They must have wondered how he was. Perhaps they would spend the rest of their lives waiting for him to return. Now he never would.

  I took a deep breath and leaned back in the sand, feeling broken, defeated. Thala was already lying beside me.

  “Stop,” she said to me.

  “Stop what?”

  “What it is that you’re doing. We’re going to get out of this.”

  “How?”

  She didn’t have an answer.

  “If he doesn’t kill us, the sandstorm will. Either way, we’re dead,” I said.

  I looked out into the night sky. What was Arjun doing right now, as Sikander’s satrap? Were Shree and Bandaka safe? Was Sikander’s army marching in the direction of the caves too? Were there search parties out scouring the kingdom for us? Would Sikander find the Sybillines and destroy them?

  But every question I asked myself felt like a grain of sand let loose in the wind, merging with billions of other grains of sand, and eventually, my mind had no option but to quiet itself. I was here, in the desert, Alexi beside me, boasting of his fate.

  He was the commander of a lucky unit, he told his men. They were headed toward the caves of magic. They would destroy the Sybillines. They would be rich.

  I looked again at Alexi’s men and wondered if they had ever felt they had a choice in life, a say in how their destinies had unfolded. All I could see were their tired eyes that looked far too old for their faces.

  “Where do you think we’ll go after this life ends?” I asked Thala.

  The sun had set, and we were camped around a crackling blaze. The plains were naked, bare, and the moonlight dripped on them like wax from a white candle. Looking out over that endless bowl of sky full of billions of stars, billions of other worlds, I felt like we were the only living creatures left on Earth. The world felt vast, full of mysteries.

  “I don’t know. I wish I did. But I can’t see it. There’s a veil between life and death that I can’t see past. You won’t be gone for some time, anyway,” she said.

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  “I’m the seer.”

  “Even so, I know in some deep part of me that my life is already over, Thala. It doesn’t matter that you’re the seer. I know it in my bones. Everything I once was . . . is gone. I’ll never return to that life. I’ll never be home again.”

  “Then maybe you should tell me what you’ll miss.”

  I took a deep breath and smiled at my memories, alighting upon me like benevolent fireflies. “I’ll miss laughing with my father, eating breakfast with him in the mornings. Toast with mango murabba and chai. Shree showing me how to read my first book. Running with Arjun through the orchard in the rain. The way Mala woke me up every morning, with such care. Tippu the gardener giving me a flower from the garden practically every time I passed him. Falling in love with Arjun. The view of Ananta from my window, neem trees, hot baths, cardamom kulfi, stories that Mala told me.”

  I was crying now, and laughing too. It had all been so . . . beautiful, despite the last part. I had lived such a rich life. I had been lucky.

  “What do you regret?”

  I thought for a moment. “That I never got to meet my mother. And leaving Arjun behind.”

  Thala nodded. “You’ve lived a wonderful life, Amrita.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re right,” she said to me after a moment. “You’ll never return to Shalingar. You’ll never rule your kingdom, the way you hoped you would one day. You have to accept it. That life is gone.”

  Even though I knew this, hearing Thala confirm it stunned me. I felt a deep panic welling inside me. It was one thing to feel resigned, to feel as though that particular life had ended, but it was an entirely different thing to relinquish my identity altogether. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  “Look at these men around you,” Thala whispered. “Look at me. We all had to give up who we were once. The only advice I have for you is that your identity means nothing to Alexi, to these men, to the sandstorm that’s coming our way.”

  I shook my head. I might have been ready for death, but if I wasn’t Amrita, who was I? If I wasn’t the collection of my experiences, then what was left of me?

  “You’re not Amrita anymore,” Thala told me, her voice soothing. “You’re Maya.”

  But every molecule in my body rejected her words. “I don’t even know who Maya is! To me, she’s just some statue in a temple.”

  Thala had no words for me then. She simply rested her shackled hands over mine.

  In the distance, the wind howled. Please, I asked the vast landscape, pitching my desperate wish across its surface like I was throwing a stone. Please keep my friend safe. Please get her to the Janaka Caves. It had become an hourly prayer. Something I did simply to pass the time, to make myself feel better.

  Thala lifted her head, turned to look out toward the sunset. “It’s coming,” she said. I expected to hear dread in her voice, but instead, I heard a crackle of excitement.

  ¤

  The sandstorm hit well into the night, just when Thala predicted it would. All of a sudden, a wall of dust engulfed the stars. The horses began to whinny, and fear radiated from Alexi’s face. I knew there was no way we would survive a sandstorm
out here without supplies. And yet, there was nothing we could do tied up in chains.

  “Make a barricade with the horses,” Alexi yelled over the terrifying hiss of the wind. “We’ll stay in the middle.”

  “That won’t work.” One of the soldiers shook his head. His voice was surprisingly calm. “We’ll be buried alive. All of us.”

  “You have a better idea?” Alexi shouted over the wind.

  Two soldiers approached Thala and me, lifting us up to carry us to higher ground.

  “Thank you,” Thala said, touching the arm of the soldier who carried her.

  I watched Alexi frantically yelling at his soldiers as he gesticulated at the wind. But it was obvious to the rest of us: We had no chance of surviving this sandstorm.

  I turned back to Thala, who was speaking loudly over the howl of the wind to the two soldiers who carried us. She spoke quickly in Persian, and after she finished, the soldiers glanced at one another. They ran in the other direction, mounted their horses, and took off. I watched them ride away from the storm.

  “What did you say to them?” I shouted.

  “I told them that I predicted this storm. And I can make another prediction that might be of use to them. There are a few outcomes to their fate. Had they made it to the caves, Alexi would have killed them so he could keep the loot for himself. Lucky for them, he’ll never get there. If they stay here, they’ll die in the sandstorm. If they go back to Sikander, he’ll kill them. Sikander is going to see them as deserters. It wasn’t their fault, but they abandoned their post, kidnapped the princess.”

  “Those are all terrible outcomes,” I said.

  “Yes, but they have one good option.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Run,” she said. “I told them to get ahead of the storm. They can still make it. Ride back where we came from. Hide in the forest. When they emerge, they can make their way back to Persia, taking the Silk Road all the way west. They can return to their families alive. They can fight to have their lives back. It’s not going to be easy. But it’s possible. And worth trying for.”

  I glanced in the direction of the storm. It was getting closer. My stomach twisted into a knot. I imagined sand in my eyes, in my mouth, my ears. I imagined being buried alive. I had never considered that I would die this way, but now it was looking like a distinct possibility.

  I turned to look at Alexi, who was watching in horror as all of his men took off on their horses, leaving him alone in the sand.

  “Think they’ll make it home alive?” I asked.

  Thala looked at me. “That I can’t see,” she said. “Like I told you before, without chamak I’m not able to see things as sharply. I can still make out some things, but not others.” She smiled. “But this moment, right now, what they’re feeling? It’s the greatest feeling of their lives.”

  I could barely make out her words over the howl of the wind now.

  Alexi approached us, unshackling us quietly, without ceremony, without words. He did it because he knew he had no choice. He looked at me with fear in his eyes before he turned and mounted his horse, bolting away from the storm.

  I watched him ride away.

  “Coward,” I said over the howling wind.

  “But look what he left behind in his panic,” Thala said.

  I followed her eyes to a spot in the sand where my satchel sat waiting for me. I grabbed it, eagerly opening it. The map, the dagger, it was all still there. I held the satchel tightly to my chest as I looked back up.

  It was closer now, the storm. I could see it coming for us, like a bulwark of dust. It looked like a solid mass.

  “So . . . what now?” I yelled.

  “I don’t know what happens now,” Thala said.

  I reached for Thala’s hand and closed my eyes. We stood there, the wind screaming into our ears, cold sand whipping our faces. I braced myself for whatever was to come. I opened my eyes to see objects flying through the air: palm leafs and entire tree stumps, pieces of fabric, flags, all violently cycling around us. Soon that would be us, I imagined, the storm chewing us up and spitting us out. My grip tightened around Thala’s hand, and my stomach plummeted.

  Please, I pleaded with whatever force might listen. Please don’t harm us. Please deliver us to safety. I realized I was speaking with the storm itself. Please, I asked again. If you can hear me, please know that all I would like is for my friend and me to make it to the edge of the desert, to the Janaka Caves, unharmed. We want to live. You owe us nothing. But I ask you, humbly, to deliver us to safety.

  I no longer have a father. I don’t know my mother. Everything I’ve ever had is lost, gone. I am no longer a princess.

  I am nothing, nobody.

  I come to you with nothing but a plea. Please help us.

  The wind continued to howl, louder and louder, whipping my hair across my face, the taste of sand in my mouth. And then a voice emerged from the roar of the wind.

  We have heard what you have to say. We will grant you our aid, I heard. My eyes snapped open.

  I gazed up at the stars, and as I did, we were lifted into the heavens by a bump of air, and we were flying higher than the storm, looking down into a funnel of sand, shifting, twisting, like those palm leaves. I tensed for a moment before I closed my eyes and gave in to it.

  Before I had a chance to make sense of those words, we were within it, engulfed. We found ourselves floating in the eye of the storm, watching as sand and debris spun around us.

  I was surprised at how quiet and still it was. Peaceful, almost.

  “It’s already happening,” Thala said, her eyes full of amazement. “You’re becoming her. Maya.”

  I couldn’t even bring myself to respond. I had always thought of storms as violent, but this was majestic, a force of nature that commanded respect, not fear. I would remember it always. A storm protecting us from itself.

  Finally, I spoke. “I don’t even understand what that really means,” I said to her.

  “Just keep watching and listening and asking. You’ll find out,” Thala replied.

  ¤

  I don’t know how long we were inside the storm. Maybe it was a few hours, maybe it was days, or weeks.

  All at once, we landed gently on our feet.

  It was almost dawn, and the sky emerged a clear, pale pink where the storm had been. It was as though the winds had scrubbed the desert clean, or rearranged it to their liking. We stood quietly, watching the cyclone as it went on its way. I was stunned at how I felt: Sad to see it go, as though it was yet another family member I was saying goodbye to. Amazed at what we had just witnessed. It was majestic, but it was also whimsical, lovely. I had seen another side of something that I had previously considered only dangerous and destructive. How limited my perception had been before this moment.

  Thala’s laughter snapped me out of my thoughts. “Look where we are!” she said. “It deposited us at the edge of the desert. A day’s walk from the Janaka Caves. It’s as though it knew.”

  I felt a sense of amazement at her words.

  “I’ve heard that the Diviners knew how to do that—how to speak to the sand, call to the wind, ask for their aid. And they offered it to us. To you.”

  I couldn’t help but think about the voice I had heard when we were in the eye of the storm.

  Thala smiled a rare smile. “We’re going to make it to the caves,” she said. “I knew it.”

  We began to hike up the trail.

  “Did you hear that voice?” I asked Thala.

  “What voice?” she asked.

  “Earlier . . .” But from the way she looked at me, I knew that I was the only one who had heard it. And then I knew she was right—I had spoken to the wind and the sand. I had spoken to the storm. And it had offered me what I had asked for.

  Twenty-Five

  PEBBLES SCATTERED, tumbli
ng down the edge of the mountain.

  I leaned over the vertical drop beside the trail to see where they would land, but gazing down the purple and green ravine made me dizzy.

  “Careful!” Thala pulled me toward her.

  The sun was rising over the bare golden dunes, and we were filled to the brim with an unexpected euphoria. We were alive. And only a day away from our destination. A sense of possibility loomed over us. I could see it in Thala’s smile, her graceful movements: We were free.

  We had been hiking up and around the hills and valleys the entire day, each turn revealing something unexpected. After miles and miles of desolate rock face, a verdant meadow, sheep grazing at our ankles. On a particularly narrow path, a boulder that we each took turns hanging on to as we scuttled around it, a terrifying drop just beneath our feet.

  There were no people here, and so many different paths cutting into the hillside—some going up, others going down—that without a map, we might have been hiking for years before we found what we were looking for.

  Luckily, we were able to find sustenance just when we needed it, almost as though someone had planned for our visit. On the top of a particularly steep hillside, an aquamarine lake that we dipped our toes into for a brief respite.

  “We’re lucky. I’m almost out of water,” I said to Thala, refilling my skin.

  And farther up a hill, brambles full of berries I had never before seen—pink and white, the shape of hearts, iridescent in the sun.

  We sat down for a moment, resting in a patch of grass. “Thala, do you know what happens when we get there?”

  “All I can see is Macedon.”

  “Do you think Sikander will make it to the caves?”

  “I don’t know.” Thala shook her head. “Maybe it’s because I haven’t taken chamak in some time, but I feel . . . like a normal person. You have no idea how difficult it can be, seeing the future all the time. And people don’t even believe what you tell them. Only the Library knows everything. Whether you believe in it or not.” She smiled.