The Serpent's Secret

by Sayantani DasGupta

  The silence was painful as we walked back to the main part of the palace. Neel set a fast pace even though he carried both the golden and silver spheres, and didn’t look over at me once. My emotions slingshotted between rage and guilt. How dare he blame me? I thought one minute. How could he not? I thought the next.

  We walked down a marble hallway decorated with shields and curved swords. The ceiling sparkled with gems set in patterns to look like stars, moons, and swirling galaxies. There were lacy cutouts in the walls that let the breeze waft through, and I could see one after another fountain-filled courtyard stretching off in either direction. At the end of this hall was the throne room, and in front of the throne room stood a pair of moustachioed guards in tunics and baggy pants. The swords in their belts glittered. But they didn’t stop us, instead just bowed to the prince and let us through.

  Before the royal audience chamber was a reception area separated from the throne room by a curtain. There were a bunch of people crowded there—merchants and customers arguing about who cheated who, nervous villagers waiting to complain about their landlords, courtiers in silk saris and tunics just milling around for no apparent reason. The glittering curtain parted and a gray-haired man in regal clothes, gold earrings, and miles of gold necklaces came out. He bowed to Neel, adding a kind of unnecessary set of hand waves.

  “Your Royal Highness, welcome home.”

  Neel inclined his head. “Lord Bulbul.”

  “I am the Royal Minister of Sweets,” the elderly man said to me with a flourish, before he caught full sight of me. Then I saw his expression change into disgust. Man, what was this dude’s problem?

  In the meantime, the guard parted the entrance curtain and Neel walked through, leaving me behind with Lord Bulbul. As I watched the prince’s retreating back, the hollow feeling in my stomach grew. To make matters worse, I noticed the minister guy was still staring at me. Following his gaze, I realized there was a gloppy mess on my beautiful tunic that looked as if I’d been playing with tar. To top it off, there was a bunch of long rakkhoshi hairs stuck in it.

  “Eww.” I tried—pretty ineffectively—to clean myself off with the cloth that the guard supplied me. Unfortunately, I just smeared the stain even more over the silk top.

  It was only then I realized that Lord Bulbul wasn’t bothered by my clothes, he was grimacing at the cobra mark on my arm.

  “A bad omen,” he hissed, spitting in my direction. “An evil eye has touched you.” The minister backed away. He looked like he wished he had a bunch of garlic to ward me off.

  This would have been a good time for my half-monster side to kick in, I thought, so I could smite this guy to death with an evil glare or something. But instead, I just stood there feeling small, and not particularly smite-y. Or snaky. Neel’s mom had called me a moon-chickie. Maybe I took more after my biological mom? I could only hope. Although what a moon maiden was like I had no idea. And I’d never heard of anyone moonbeaming someone else to death.

  Finally, the guard just pushed me along. There was nothing else to be done but to follow Neel into the throne room.

  I kept my hand over my scar, held my breath, and prayed no one would notice me. I didn’t feel any more regal now that I’d found out about my biological parents. In fact, I felt like an ordinary sixth grader from New Jersey masquerading in pretty clothes (that I’d already ruined).

  In front of me was a long, carpeted aisle lined on both sides with all sorts of jabbering lords and ladies of the kingdom. Everyone was decked out in blinding color combinations—magenta and kelly green, turquoise and orange, violet and hot pink. The men were in turbans, chains, and earrings; the women in saris embroidered with gold thread and real pieces of glass, their dark hair threaded with heavy jewels. They were flirting, arguing, eating, laughing. Everyone, even the pretty ladies, seemed to be talking with their mouths full. No one seemed particularly interested in what anyone else had to say, but really interested in hearing their own voices. I shouldn’t have been nervous about anyone noticing me. A woman in a chartreuse sari and magenta blouse belched delicately, but no one gave me a second glance as I walked toward the royal dais.

  Neel stood in front of his father’s throne. Its back was a golden peacock’s open feathers, and its armrests each a roaring lion’s head.

  As I approached, I realized Neel was mid-story.

  “… and then she vomited these out,” he explained. “I’m pretty sure they are the Prince Lalkamal and the stable master’s daughter, Mati.” The golden and silver spheres vibrated and rolled around in front of the throne.

  The Raja was weeping fat, embarassing tears. He looked a lot like Lal, but older and softer. Precious gems sparkled from his ears and the rings decorating every single one of his fingers. And on his shoulder, like yet another ornament, was the golden bird, Tuntuni.

  “Our son and heir!” the Raja groaned. “How could you do this? Your only job was to protect your brother and future soverign—with your life if necessary! What have you done? What have you done?”

  Neel’s face grew stony, his dark brows knitting together. “Father, I swear I will do everything in my power to bring my brother back.”

  “Not everything!” the Raja shrieked, jumping up and almost dislodging Tuni from his shoulder. “You promised to control that part of yourself!”

  “You know that’s not what I meant!” Neel practically growled, and the Raja flinched, sitting quickly back down in his seat.

  I might have flinched a little too. Neel appeared scarier than I’d ever seen him look. He was even shaking a little, as if desperately trying to control his temper. It was like watching someone put a lid on a volcano.

  “I don’t know anything about you anymore, boy.” The Raja’s words were angry but his voice was trembling. He looked like he was going to say something else, but was interrupted by a number of women bursting into the throne room.

  “This is all of your causing!” A stunning woman in a buttercup-yellow sari and diamond jewelry knocked over a bunch of courtiers to rush toward the throne. When she got to the golden ball, she collapsed, pounding her fists on the marble floor. A gaggle of similarly dressed women—in necklaces and bangles, diamond nose rings and tiaras—followed buttercup lady into the room, and, after a minute of watching her cry, began to wail too.

  “To see our queens so distraught is terribly vexing to us.” The Raja blew his nose into a large, lacy handkerchief.

  Neel’s face lost a little of that thunderous expression, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

  Ah, this must be Lal’s mother and the other stepmothers.

  The head queen’s long-lashed eyes flashed at Neel as she screeched, “This is your fault. You are no prince of this realm, demon-born spawn!”

  Whoa. Lal’s mom was giving the Rakkhoshi Queen a run for her status as wickedest stepmother of the year.

  Instead of exploding in rage, Neel’s voice took on an icy, sarcastic civility. “How pleasant to see you too, my royal stepmother,” he mocked, bowing low.

  The buttercup queen then turned her venom on me. “It is you who has brought this evil wind into our kingdom again, you moon rock, you viper child, you serpent in girl’s clothing!”

  “My darling lady,” the Raja cooed, “this is the Princess Kiranmala, exiled these many years to the land of”—he shuddered—“two dimensions. What will she think of us if we behave so? Come, my dear, you must not distress yourself. We do not desire you to become ill!”

  “Royal husband.” Now the queen’s tone was cloying. “You will exile them, won’t you? You will banish them from the kingdom for what they have done to my son, your heir, the future Raja of this kingdom?”

  I wanted to hate her, but she was right. I had done this to her son, twice over. Once by separating him from Neel, and then again by inviting the Rakkhoshi Queen into the kingdom. I felt smaller than a cockroach and only half as loved.

  “My royal stepmother,” Neel said, his voice tight, “Princess Kiranmala didn’t do this
to Lal. It was my fault entirely. No one else’s.”

  Neel’s words confused me. Why was he taking all the blame?

  “Do not address me, boy!” the woman shrieked at Neel. “And do not tell me about this”—she indicated me—“snake in the grass, this asp, this cobra dropping!”

  Neel kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, but I could see that muscle twitching at his jaw that told me how angry he really was. The volcano, it seemed, was bubbling again.

  One of the other queens was staring at my clothes. “You do realize that you have, like, demon snot on your shirt?” she twitted through pink lips. “I mean, seriously grody!”

  “Yes, and it’s demon spit, thanks,” I muttered.

  “My queens, we observe your sister-queen is a bit distressed.” The Raja waved his handkerchief in the direction of Lal’s mother. “Perhaps you can remove her from the throne room and allow her to get some well-deserved rest.”

  “I refuse to leave without my son! I will not leave without the golden ball!” Lal’s mother shouted, but at the Raja’s slight shake of the head, several queens grabbed each of her arms and legs and began forcing her out of the room.

  “It’s all of your faults! You all did this to my precious boy!” the queen yelled as she was bustled away. “Not to mention all the time he spent with that horse-girl, that stable wench! No good can come from mixing with the poor, I tell you! No good can come from letting the son of a rakkhoshi and the daughter of a snake loose in the kingdom!”

  The entire throne room stayed quiet as the queen’s rants became less and less audible. Then everyone started jabbering again as if nothing had happened. I was surprised the Raja didn’t even seem embarrassed. He was probably used to the drama. He actually looked pretty chipper as he picked up some sweets from a silver platter. I remembered that Neel had said Lord Bulbul’s title was Minister of Sweets. Now I understood how important that position would be in this kingdom. The Raja scarfed down a number of desserts all at the same time.

  “This one has real silver sliced on top,” he said as he popped a diamond-shaped sandesh into his already full mouth. Some of the ministers seated to his left clapped, as if impressed by their Raja’s dessert-eating abilities. For his part, the Raja looked ridiculously pleased by their approval.

  “Now where were we?” the Raja mused when he was done smirking for his court. “What was it we were talking about?” He had disgusting globs of molasses hanging from his moustache hairs.

  I stole a glance at Neel, whose brown skin was turning seriously ruddy. I worried the lava of his rage was about to bubble up and out.

  “We were talking about your younger son, Your Majesty.” My voice was thin and nervous. “He got turned into a golden sphere?”

  “Oh, yes.” The Raja swallowed, then whipped out his handkerchief to dab his lips and eyes. “We are so very dismayed at this unexpected turn of events.” Of course, his dismay didn’t stop him from shoving some more sandesh in his mouth.

  “I’m sure you are, sire,” I said quickly.

  “We are even more distressed,” mumbled the Raja through his stuffed mouth, “that our son was with that inappropriate friend of his. The daughter of a stable master! Really!”

  “Father.” Neel spoke through clenched teeth. “I said I would do whatever it takes to bring the Prince Lalkamal back, and I will.”

  “And Mati,” I added.

  “Indeed,” the Raja said to his son, “you will bring your brother home, or you will not come home at all.”

  “Without my brother, I have no home here.” Neel bit off the words like they were poison.

  I felt horrible. If not for me, Lal and Mati would be with us right now. If I’d just believed their stories, maybe my parents would be safe at home too. I straightened my shoulders, feeling that unfamiliar warrior spirit in my stomach. Even if he hated me, even if he was more rakkhosh than human, I would help Neel get his brother back. And I would get my parents back too. There was no other option. This was my destiny.

  I turned to the yellow bird, who was perched on the arm of the Raja’s throne. “Minister Tuni, what do we do? How can we get them back in their old form?”

  “In the East of North of East, the Maya Pahar climbs—” Tuntuni squawked, pecking crumbs out of the Raja’s open palm.

  “Yeah, yeah, we heard you the first time,” I interrupted. “So we have to go the Maya Pahar to save Lal and Mati—the same place my parents are?”

  “All your solutions,” the bird agreed, “lie in the Mountains of Illusions.”

  “Okay, great, let’s go!”

  “Wait.” The Raja stopped me with an upturned hand. “Do you know how to get there?”

  I was surprised. “It’s like the bird—”

  A squawk of protest.

  “… Minister Tuni said. In the East of North of East. I mean, wherever that is. Right?”

  “Stop being such a ruler, Kiran,” Neel snapped. “Here, north isn’t always north. East isn’t always east …”

  “Oh, right.” I sagged in defeat and scowled at the bird, who was hopping from one of the Raja’s armrests to the other. I was no closer to finding Ma and Baba. No closer to helping Lal and Mati back into their human forms. Maybe Neel was right. Maybe I couldn’t do anything right.

  Unexpectedly, it was Tuntuni who seemed to notice my plummeting mood. “Say, Princess, what do you call a sad bird?” he squawked.

  “This is really not the time …” Neel began, but I blurted out the answer.

  “Easy. A bluebird.”

  “Eggs-ceptional,” Tuni chirped, flying onto my shoulder. For whatever reason, that made me feel a little better.

  “In a place where nothing—not even countries—stay put, it’s useful to have a moving map. Why don’t you use yours?”

  Both the Raja and Neel snapped around to look at me. “You have a moving map?” father and son asked at the same time.

  “Jinx.” It popped out of my mouth before I even thought about it.

  “What is this jinx?” the Raja asked. “We are not familiar with this custom.”

  “Well, if you say something at the same time, then one person can say ‘jinx’ and the other person can’t talk until the first person, or somebody else, says the other person’s name …”

  “Oh, bullock’s biscuits, there’s no time for that now,” Neel yelled. “You have a moving map and you didn’t tell me this whole time?”

  “I … I … uh, I didn’t think it was important. What’s a moving map anyway?”

  “You didn’t think it was important!” Neel shouted, while his father explained, “A moving map is what you need if you’re going to a place that doesn’t stay still. It’s a map that knows how to keep up and tell you where somewhere is at any particular time. They’re very rare and most difficult to find.”

  Neel was still ranting, his voice getting louder, “If I’d known you had a moving map, I wouldn’t have even come home to talk to Tuni, and if we hadn’t come here …”

  He didn’t have to say it. I finished the thought for him. “If we hadn’t come here, then Lal and Mati would still be okay.”

  Bullock’s biscuits was right. Here was yet another way that I was directly responsible for everything going wrong.

  I felt worse than ever.

  What is this thing?”

  We were back in the bathing room with the hanging vines, where I’d left my backpack. The mood between Neel and me was still tense, but at least he was talking to me. Together, we examined Ma’s map, which looked just the same as the first time I’d seen it. As opposed to being covered with images of roads, mountains, lakes, or rivers, the entire page was smudgy and blank.

  I reread the birthday card, the last message I had from my parents to me. “It says right here it’s a moving map.”

  Neel stared at the blank paper with a serious expression, as if commanding the map to appear.

  We were both quiet for a minute. Then Neel held the paper up to his face and sniffed it.

&nbs
p; “What are you doing?”

  “Just what I suspected,” Neel replied. “It smells fishy.”

  “Very punny.”

  “I’m serious.” Neel’s grim face reminded me that he was only tolerating me out of some sense of princely duty. “There’s a map here; it’s just invisible. It’s probably coated with Tangra fish juice.”

  “Some kind of invisible ink?”

  Neel nodded.

  Why not? A map that keeps up with moving land masses drawn with invisible fish juice. It certainly wasn’t the strangest thing I had heard about so far. Of course, it wasn’t exactly the kind of atlas we sold in our convenience store—the most exotic things on those were, like, the Garden State Parkway and the New Jersey Turnpike. (Though I used to think the Holland Tunnel sounded super exotic, like it was in Europe or something, but it’s actually in Jersey City, New Jersey, which, in case you haven’t been, isn’t really that exotic at all.)

  I squinted at the paper. “How do we decode it? With secret spy rings?”

  “Let me look it up.” Neel fished a battered little book out of his pocket. The cover read:

  The Adventurer’s Guide to Rakkhosh, Khokkosh, Bhoot, Petni, Doito, Danav, Daini, and Secret Code

  Khogen Prasad Das

  “Rakkhosh I know, decoding I get,” I said. “But what are all those other words?”

  “Oh, different kinds of demons, ghosts, witches, goblins, that sort of thing. K. P. Das is a senior demonologist of the highest caliber. He’s one of Lal’s and my tutors.”

  Neel’s voice was carefully neutral, and I could practically feel the distance between us. I took a big breath.

  “Um … Neel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m really …”

  Neel lifted his face from his book and looked, for the first time in what felt like forever, straight at me. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or angry or … hungry. I realized how alone we were and felt a spasm of fear.

  But his words weren’t as much scary as they were just sad. “I’m … I’m just going to need some time, okay? I just … I’m going to need some time before I can forgive you.”