Time passed as the two of us happily focused on our family. We took great delight in raising our young ones. When our children, who became mighty hunters and skilled warriors, were old enough, they accompanied us into our battles. I watched proudly as they fought and was able to heal them merely by touching the Damon Amulet to their skin.
One by one, they left us. It was always sad and we visited them as often as we could, but eventually our children and then our grandchildren died. They lived long past the age of the mortals around them. They were each leaders in their own way, and we were proud of them.
We attended each funeral, birth, and wedding, in some cases openly, as parents and grandparents, but then, later, as strangers. When our brood became too large to keep track of, we left off watching them, though we could sense, through the truth stones we wore, when we came across certain people, that they were a part of us.
Every decade, on our anniversary, I started a tradition of adding to the gifts I’d given Ana. The mango tree had thrived under her care, and I plucked the ripest fruit and planted her a new tree until a great grove of them had risen near our mountain home. With the help of Yínbáilóng, the white dragon, I found a grouping of giant clams and was able to add more of the precious black pearls to her necklace.
We visited the home of the phoenixes, and each new bird gifted me with a feather, which I wove onto her belt. After hundreds of years of adding to her wedding presents, the magic inside each one grew until we realized what we were looking at. They were the gifts of Durga. The single pearl had become the Pearl Necklace. The belt of phoenix feathers became the Rope of Fire. The green veil, the one she wore most frequently, was now imbued with even more magic and it became the Divine Scarf.
One day as we were walking in the grove of mango trees, we forgot to phase out of time. Inspired by the bucolic setting, I’d drawn Ana beneath the branches and kissed her. As we were leaving, I noticed something shimmering above us on a high limb of the tree. Ana lifted her arms, wrapping a bubble around us, and we rose in the air. There, nestled among the other mango fruits, one lone globe bobbed, the sunlight sparkling off the shining skin.
She plucked it and held it out to me with a smile. We now had all the gifts and we knew where they’d come from. They’d been woven together by time, love, and magic.
Eventually, the story of the goddess and her tiger changed and people forgot. Prayers and supplications became not only less frequent but less pressing. Ana became ill for the first time since she’d accepted the role of the goddess. Alarmed, I sought out Kadam.
He mixed a drink for her. When I asked him what it was, he replied, “Soma. The restorative of the gods.”
“The same one you gave me all those years ago?”
“Yes. She can recover from this sickness, Kishan, but I fear it will sap some of your energy as she draws upon the healing power inside you. Do you remember when Kelsey healed Ren from the Gáe Bolga?”
“Yes,” I answered, hope filling me.
“You can do the same with your bond. Just be cautious not to give so much that there is nothing left for yourself. At this point, she cannot survive without you.”
“I’ll do it,” I insisted. “Take whatever you need to.”
“Kishan,” Kadam said, “you know that neither you nor she is immortal. Ana has wielded great power over the centuries. It’s taken a toll on her. She begins to show signs of age.”
“Then I’ll gather more elixir from the mermaid. I’ll go to the phoenix for help.”
“The elixir no longer works on her. She is now immune to its effects. As for firefruit juice, I fear it is the same. This is the natural way of things. I’m sorry, son, but Ana’s body is tired. Her energy wanes. She must draw upon your stores now if she is to heal.”
Looking down at my lovely wife, I touched my fingers to her dark hair. Even in the throes of sickness, she looked as young as the day we married. If her eyes weren’t as bright or her skin wasn’t as firm, I considered it due to her illness. Ana wasn’t aging. I couldn’t accept what Kadam was saying. This time he was wrong.
“Ren didn’t age. And you’ve lived as long as she has,” I argued, desperate to find a solution.
“I have led a quiet life other than these last few months. As for Ren, the tiger and Yesubai’s gift kept Ren young,” he explained. “The Damon Amulet grants long life, especially to you and Ren, who embraced the essence of the tiger. But you and Ana have lived many, many years. Much longer when you consider how many weeks and months you’ve skipped through time. And you’ve drawn upon the power of the amulet in ways the rest of us haven’t.
“Ana has always wielded her power through you,” he said. “It’s been shared freely between you all these years through your bond, allowing you both to do many great things in serving mankind, but it burns through her now. She is beginning to feel the weight of her mortality.”
“You’re certain?”
“I am.” Kadam touched her shoulder and I saw something else in his eyes.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I want to say I’m sorry.”
“For what? You didn’t cause this.”
“No. But I accelerated the process.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you…if you didn’t have to save me from trapping myself in the grave, the two of you might have had many more years together. I’m afraid saving Ren’s life and then rescuing me cost you both. We drained your power significantly. It’s a terrible thing, son. I cannot ask you to forgive me, for there is nothing I could ever do to make up for this loss.”
I took her hand as she writhed in fever, pressing her fingers to my lips. We didn’t speak for many moments. “It doesn’t matter,” I finally told him quietly. “Ana would have wanted you saved no matter the cost. I knew there would be a price to pay.”
Kadam nodded and stayed nearby, watching over Ana with me all night. I tried once to press him to tell me how long we had left, but his gleaming eyes gave away nothing. We could have centuries left, years, months, or days. The not knowing was the worst part.
If I were a petitioner, I might have prayed to Ana for help, but who could a goddess and her lowly husband pray to? For two weeks, I sat at her side, wiping her brow as I tried to stave off the little voice that niggled at the back of my mind, a harbinger, telling me there was more to this sickness than Kadam was saying.
Ana recovered, but she wasn’t the same after her extended illness. Her powers had diminished greatly and she was indeed beginning to show signs of age. Soon, every time I touched her, I willed energy into her. It became an obsession of mine. Each day I watched as new lines appeared around her mouth and dark spots bloomed on her hands. White strands of hair shone among the black and even her beloved garden began to suffer. For the first time in centuries, her roses began to die.
One day, as I took her hands, blowing on them and rubbing them, pushing as much strength into her as I could, I heard her voice in my mind.
Sohan, she said softly. It’s time to stop, my love.
I lifted my head and asked out loud, “Am I hurting you?”
No.
Frowning, I said, “Then what is it?” Ana looked at me then and something inside me unraveled and tore. “No,” I said vehemently. “No, Ana. Not this.” Tears blurred my vision and I sobbed. My Ana, my wife, wrapped her arms around my back and pulled me close as I cried.
“Shush, my tiger,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “It’s time. We have postponed it for as long as we could.”
I lifted my head. “I can do more. I can—”
“Come with me,” she interrupted. “Take me beyond this plane one last time.”
Ana had long since lost the ability to time jump and relied solely on me to move her back and forth. I’d stopped doing it after noticing how each leap drained her. I was going to deny her, to try to argue with her, but she locked her mind with mine and any assertion I was going to make drained away in the face of her certainty.
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Lifting her gently in my arms, tears trickling down my face, I asked, “Where do you want to go?”
She smoothed the hair away from my eyes, kissed my sticky cheek, and said, “You know the place.”
I nodded and took my wife back to our little cabin in Shangri-La. Her body trembled from the transition.
“We’re here,” I said.
Her voice was soft and still in my mind, Take me to the waterfall.
I did. Making a blanket, I settled down with her in my arms, my back against a tree. She leaned against me, her silky hair tickling my neck. Promise me, she said.
Squeezing her waist, I answered, Anything, prēmikā.
Promise you’ll finish carving the truth stone.
It had never seemed important before. There were too many things I wanted to do, most of them involving Ana. Every time I’d picked the stone up to finish it, something happened that drew my attention away. I’d always rationalized that there was plenty of time. Now, it seemed, my time was running out. I nodded, brushing my cheek against hers.
We sat quietly together, watching the water. Our minds were locked together and there was no need for words. No need to talk. I knew her every thought and every wish as she knew mine. Her biggest regret at the end was leaving me alone. She made me promise that I wouldn’t try to cause harm to myself and that I would check in on our progeny from time to time.
With those final wishes settled, the only thing left was the contented hum of our love. It burned softly, ebbing and flowing between us, growing fainter, until, finally, my Ana was gone. She looked so peaceful, so still, as I turned her in my arms. It was as if she were merely sleeping. Crying openly, I kissed her lips a final time and then her cheeks and each of her closed eyelids, not wanting to part from her.
We had been together for centuries, but it still hadn’t been long enough. Even an eternity with Ana wasn’t enough time. The two of us had been one in service, one in mind, one in spirit, and one in love. But now, with Ana gone, there was just…one. I was alone now and would be for the remainder of my days. The best I could hope for was that it wouldn’t be long.
“I love you, my lady fair,” I murmured, the salty tears dripping down my cheeks and falling to her porcelain face. I wiped them away, then stood and prepared a final resting place for the woman I loved. The house in the garden melted away and in its place rose a great stone. Carvings of flowers adorned the smooth granite.
Picking up the goddess Durga, the mother of our children, my still-beautiful wife, I lay her on top, folding her hands across her chest. As the scarf made her a lovely dress and flowers sprung up in bunches around her shrine, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, son,” Kadam said. He hugged me tight as I cried anew into his shoulder.
We stood together for a time, just looking at her. The two of us lingered at Ana’s grave for three days, keeping vigil, much as my mother had done for my father. During that time, neither he nor I slept or ate. I caused silvery moonlight to rest on her lovely face at night and shielded her from the heat of the sun during the day. When three days had passed, I approached her stony bower and touched my lips to her forehead a final time. Then the stone crept up and over her, sealing her in her tomb.
I don’t know how long I stood there, my palm pressed against the stone, but it was long enough for Kadam to leave and return, because he said, “The Silvanae know she is here. They will keep vigil over her for as long as their race exists, and the fairies will maintain her garden.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “Come, I’ll stay with you a while.”
Kadam remained with me for another week after that, though I knew it cost him. No one lived at our mountain home now. All our closest friends had died, Lady Silkworm had been long since buried next to Isha, and we no longer needed servants once the children left. The supplicants had dwindled away years before. So, I was alone now in the home I’d once shared with Ana.
When I came to myself enough to notice the fatigue showing on Kadam’s face and in his eyes, I told him he needed to go home. Assured that I was stable enough in my despair, he did.
The years going forward were a blur to me other than a few notable experiences. I went about carving the truth stone, and as I did, I realized I had a companion after all. One day, I was sitting in Ana’s favorite chair, working on the stone, when I noticed a gleam in the window.
“Hello there,” I said, happy to see her. I set down the knife and dusted the fragments from my legs.
Fanindra lifted her head, swaying in the sunlight.
“What do you think?” I asked, showing her the ivory stone with the orange and gold veins running through it. She tilted her head as if considering my work. “I know, I know. It’s not my best effort. I’ll finish it though, have no doubt.”
The snake stayed with me after that, and when I grew restless, I packed a bag with Ana’s gifts, placed Fanindra in the top, and began wandering. After a few months, I came upon a clearing and something about it seemed familiar. It took me a while, but I eventually realized it was the place where Phet’s home should have been. Blowing out a breath, I lifted my arms and created the small hut, deciding to make it my new home base.
I traveled through time with Fanindra every so often, spying on those I loved, though each jump drained me for weeks afterward. Still, it staved off the loneliness. And it was gratifying to find they were all happy and content. Even Ren and Kelsey’s children grew up strong and healthy. They had five children in total. I watched them for a time but didn’t bother following their offspring after they left the home.
When Ren died, I was at his side. Kelsey had passed away before him, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. I was there, but none of them were aware of it. Invisible, I bent over her hospital bed as she slept and kissed her wrinkled cheek. Even with painkilling drugs dripping into her veins, she opened her eyes and looked at me as if she could see me. I returned her smile and stood by Ren as he held her hand and she passed into the next world.
Their children didn’t make it in time when Ren died of a sudden heart attack. I sat beside him on the bed in his small home. He looked so old, I thought, though his eyes were just as blue, and even at that age, he was still handsome. It was becoming harder for me to do, but I froze time, like Ana had done for Yesubai, and I spoke with my brother for a great length.
After restoring all his memories, he frankly forgave me for all the pain I’d put him through, and we cried together over the women we loved and the sorrow of lives lived separately. I told him I loved him and he asked if it had been me who had gifted his son with the family seal. I answered that it had indeed been me and Ana, though I knew the unfinished seal still sat in Phet’s hut in my own timeline.
I told him what the seal really was and that Kadam gave the one he’d used to open the Cave of Kanheri to me on one of his visits and that he’d said it was time for us to pass it along to the next generation. After leaving it with Ren’s eldest son, we followed its path for a time. Ren’s children never knew the importance of the object or its power.
As I sat with Ren, I knew the seal currently rested on the fireplace mantel of one of Ren’s grandsons. I wondered how many generations it would take for the simple history they knew to be forgotten.
Ren berated me for not visiting him and Kelsey over the years, and he said, “If it weren’t for the letter you wrote, we wouldn’t even know what happened to you.”
“Letter?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said with a cough. “You know, the scroll?”
Nodding, though I didn’t know what he was referring to, I gave him a drink of water and changed the subject. I stayed with him for hours, sharing all my adventures, and listened to him talk of his. He was proud of his family, as he should be, but he was more excited about the possibility of seeing Kelsey again.
“Do you believe she’s out there somewhere?” I asked.
“If anyone would know, I’d think it would be you,” Ren answered.
I glanced out the window at the morning sun, frozen in place, and then looked at the clock. It read 6:38 a.m. “I wish I could tell you I was certain,” I said.
“Well, if you’re not, I am.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I can feel her. Here.” He tapped his chest.
“I think that’s your heart attack speaking,” I said.
“No. It’s something more than that. It’s like…like she’s calling me. Asking me to find her.” We looked at each other for a long moment. “I…I think I’d like to go to her now, brother.”
Nodding, I rose and took his hand, squeezing it in my grip. His returning squeeze barely felt like a flutter against my skin. “Good-bye, Ren,” I said. “Go find Kells and give her my best.”
“I will. And Kishan?”
“Yes?”
“I love you too.”
Tears filled my eyes. Starting time again, I left, unwilling to watch another person I loved die.
Back in Phet’s hut, I thought often about what Ren had said, and I gathered ink and a parchment and sat down and wrote him and Kelsey a letter. Ren had said it was a scroll, and I rolled up the parchment, thinking about where a scroll, delivered to them after they’d married, might have come from. The timing would have to be just right so that it didn’t impact their future.
I carried it around with me for years, and when the paper tore and faded, I made a copy, used the newly finished seal of the House of Rajaram to bind it, and fashioned a glass to protect the paper from damage. That was when I knew what it was. I’d seen it before.
Knowing what to do, I visited the phoenix who, when I asked about a substance that would open a mortal’s eyes so he could see things hidden from others, bade me to juice a firefruit. I did and presented it to him. He bent over the liquid and blinked. A single teardrop pooled at the edge of his eye and fell into the liquid.
Tiger's Dream (Tiger's Curse Book 5) Page 64