The Bookweaver's Daughter

by Malavika Kannan

  I bit back the old rage I thought I had conquered. It was awful to resent my father, broken as he was from Jahan’s crusade. But somehow, it felt like I was more of the parent. It felt like I protected him from the world, not the other way around. I knew what was at stake—I knew the power of the legacy we were safeguarding—but that didn’t always make things easier. Not on days like this.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I said, enclosing his hand in mine. “No apologies until you’re better.”

  He still looked stricken, so I shifted closer to him and leaned against his shoulder. It was bony and frail beneath my weight, but I knew he was grateful for the gesture.

  “What are you writing about today?” I asked, glancing at his manuscript. Beneath the dense forest of script was an illumination of three wizened Mages. I could almost sense the paper breathing, whispering its tales to me if I stopped to listen.

  “The legend of the first Yogis,” he said. “You can read it now, if you want. You used to love stories.”

  He still wasn’t looking at me, but I recognized the peace offering. It was his promise that things could be better between us.

  “I never stopped loving your stories,” I said softly.

  He smiled. “You’re a Kandhari,” he said. “It’s in your blood.”

  I flipped through the pages, careful not to smear the ink. Within them, I could sense the power of the tapestries handed down by our ancestors—vengeful gods who lived on mountain peaks. Grotesque and gentle monkey-beasts. Demons who ruled kingdoms cloaked by darkness. The elegance of his books reminded me of the Bookweaver himself: a shadow of goodness that didn’t quite belong in this dark, harsh place.

  “Tens of thousands of years ago,” I began quietly. Father closed his eyes to listen, his face serene. I tilted the book towards the lamplight and started to read aloud.

  Tens of thousands of years ago, they say Kasmira was a barren desert—as magnificent and lonely as an ancient tome. There were no hissing cobras, flying elephants, or jungles that glittered like jewels. It was a blank slate, a silenced promise. It was waiting for a miracle.

  And so the gods poured forth great pools of water, fire and earth—and then, they sent a woman. This first woman was wiser than an elephant. She took the elements, scattered them around the desert, and from there, a kingdom was born. She filled Kasmira with animals, and finally, men: small, blind creatures struggling towards self-preservation. But the woman was not finished, for she knew that there was something beyond survival: there was life.

  And so she spirited another human, a male, and together, they had three great children who would become the legendary Yogis. The first heir, the Lightweaver, could craft anything with his fair fingers. Next was the Songweaver, who filled valleys with her lovely music. Last came the Bookweaver, who raised cities with his words and ideas. Together, the three Yogis were the very spirit of humanity.

  But then the curse of mankind—greed and jealousy—crept into their powerful hearts. They overthrew their parents and fought each other for dominance. They would have killed each other if not for the Bookweaver’s counsel, which saved them from doom. The Yogis realized that alone, they were only one aspect, but together, they were the heart of humanity. At last, they decided that they would pass their powers down to their children so that their legacies could create inspiration throughout Kasmira.

  I turned the page, but the other side was empty. To my surprise, disappointment spidered through me. “That’s the ending, then?”

  Father opened his eyes, and it was as though a spell had been broken. He no longer looked serene. In the dying firelight, he looked exhausted.

  “Of course not,” he said. “The story isn’t finished. It won’t finish. Not any time soon, at least.”

  I wanted to ask him what he meant, but just then, the sun split the clouds, suffusing the workshop in light. The storm was clearing, which meant that I had mere minutes before Lord Gilani started looking for me.

  “I have to get back to the Fields,” I said. “Father, promise me you’re going to finish the story before I’m home again.”

  He smiled. He said something to me, he must have.

  To this day, try as I might, I can never remember exactly what it was. I can never recall what my father said to me as I headed out of the cottage, feeling his warm gaze on me even after I closed the door.

  It was only when I was at least a mile from the crumbling Fringes that I finally tucked my pearl back beneath my shirt and allowed myself to breathe.

  “Halt!”

  I jerked back instinctively, catching a glimpse of a blue-turbaned uniform. Standing at the edge of the lane was an imperial soldier. Our eyes met.

  For a second, all I could see was the sword at his belt. Then I leapt into action and darted down the street, disappearing around a corner before he could get a good look at my face.

  My strides were starting to slow, but new footsteps began thundering behind me. To my horror, three more soldiers were gaining on me.

  “Girl!” one of them shouted. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be at home with your mother?” He surveyed my ragged clothes and wild eyes. “Or up to no good, are you?”

  He lunged without warning, and I skittered away just in time, adrenaline shooting up my veins. “Chase her!”

  I heard his comrades shouting behind me, and I tore through the bazaar, my breath sawing in my lungs. The streets of the Raj seemed to shake like whirled-up water as I ran.

  My legs, which burned at first, were completely numb by the time I reached the wall of the Fields. The stone fell aside at my tug, and I dove through the narrow gap. My fingers made brief contact with the grass on the other side before someone grabbed my ankle.

  I could never remember what my father said to me, but I remember this: I never told my father I loved him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  My fingers scratched the wall for traction, blood singing in my ears. The hand on my ankle felt like a vise—I couldn’t shake it off—

  In that moment, I did the natural thing. The man pulled me up, and before either of us had fully realized what I was doing, I bit him until I tasted blood.

  “Aargh!”

  The man swore and jerked away; I felt his flesh forcibly part with my teeth. I seized my chance to fling myself from his grasp. My shins took the impact as I landed hard on the ground and rolled to my feet—

  A second hand shot out of nowhere. There was only enough time to scream, loud enough to scrape my throat, before someone shoved me against the wall.

  “It’s just a kid!” he shouted in surprise.

  “Well, she sure doesn’t bite like one,” said another voice gruffly.

  My captor turned me around so that he could see my face. I felt my stomach sink. The man before me was wearing the official guard uniform of the Raj, and the captain’s turban was embellished with a bronze Z.

  They worked for the Zakir dynasty.

  “What do you think you’re doing, peasant?” the captain snarled.

  For a moment, all I could do was stare at the bronze Z, unable to form words. In the bright sun, it glinted like a lightning bolt hurled down by vengeful gods.

  The captain glared at me. Teeth marks oozed on his hand, and in spite of everything, I felt a surge of savage pleasure. “This is excellent,” he said angrily. “Her mouth worked well enough when she was biting me, and now it’s completely shut down.”

  He rubbed his hand indignantly as voices called from down the street. “Hold her, officers!”

  We turned to see the imperial soldiers who had been chasing me finally turn the corner, panting. “What’s your name, girl?” the first one demanded.

  “Reya Patel,” I choked out, which was the name I used in the Fields. As the imperial soldiers conferred, I could still taste my scream in my mouth. It tasted like the captain’s blood, hollow and tinny.

  “Very well, Miss Patel,” the soldier said at last, his voice dangerously calm. “What were you doing in a rough neighbor
hood like the Fringes? Won’t your mother be looking for you?”

  “My mother’s dead,” I answered truthfully, and his eyebrows rose.

  “How about … your father?” he asked. There was something in his voice that made my breath catch in my throat. My father.

  He knew.

  I licked my lips, but they didn’t moisten.

  “No, sir,” I said. “I work in the Fields. When the storm broke, I was trying to find shelter, and I ended up on the streets, and I was just coming back when your soldiers chased me and I panicked, and …”

  I trailed off lamely, realizing how bad my lie was only after it was out of my mouth.

  The captain I had bitten spoke up. “Let’s just haul her to Prince Devendra. It’s not like anyone’s going to miss her—she’s got no mother.”

  The soldier who had been interrogating me shook his head. He was still peering into my eyes, as if looking for signs of untrustworthiness.

  “There’s no need to waste the prince’s time over a silly child,” he said. “I say we bring her back to the Fields and let Lord Gilani deal with the punishment.”

  The captain nodded curtly. “All right, Miss Patel,” he said. “We’ll be keeping a very close watch on you from now on. Another step out of line, and we won’t be quite so lenient.” He saluted the other soldiers and started to march me away.

  I dared to glance back at the imperial soldier who had just interrogated me. I saw his brooding eyes zero in on mine, and chills raced up my spine. He didn’t know my real name, didn’t know where I lived, but I still had the eerie feeling he knew exactly who I was.

  Then the man turned on his heel and walked out of sight.

  “Don’t give me any trouble,” the captain growled, “when we get there. You stand to be fined or even fired for desertion.”

  I took a deep breath, almost shivering with relief. I was alive, and so was my father, even if it was only for another minute.

  There were a couple peasants lounging by the gate to the Fields, chewing neem leaves and playing mancala. They snapped up to attention at the sight of the captain. “Call for Lord Gilani,” he said gruffly. “We have a stray worker.”

  The gates creaked open, and Gilani appeared almost instantaneously framed in them. The captain filled him in on what had happened, and Gilani’s brows contracted. “Rest assured that Miss Patel will be punished.”

  I took a deep breath, my back already aching from all the mangoes I’d harvest after I took a sound scolding. The captain released his grip on my arm and marched off, still clutching his bite wound. Lord Gilani waited until he was out of sight before he dragged me through the Fields.

  “These aren’t the days of the Mages any more, Miss Patel,” he snarled. “This is the reign of Jahan Zakir. We don’t put up with peasant filth anymore. Do you know what happens to rebellious kids under the new order?”

  Fury unfurled in my chest. I focused on my heartbeat, hot and incandescent, as he marched me back to the mango groves. Peasants stopped to stretch their backs and stare as Gilani strode past.

  “Of course,” I said in a tight little voice that did not belong to me. I had just caught sight of a tall, dark-haired girl rushing past the cow sheds. Without waiting for Lord Gilani to dismiss me, I started after Nina.

  She was shoving through a barley field, leaving a trampled path of bronze stalks in her wake. Although I was running, my stride was half of hers. By the time I caught up to her, I was panting.

  “Wait!”

  She turned around, and something in her expression made me pause. Her eyes contained a sadness I had never seen in them before.

  “Nina?” I asked warily.

  Her face fell. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know you,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at me. “What were you thinking, disappearing on me and nearly getting arrested?”

  My stomach dropped, as if it was not a finger, but a sword that she was pointing at me.

  “Nina, try to understand,” I started, though I certainly didn’t. “I know I’ve been hiding things from you. Just hear me through—”

  But clearly, she wasn’t going to.

  “Seven years, and I never asked questions,” she said. Her voice was cold, as though we were already strangers. “I knew that there were some things you didn’t want to tell me. But if you’re running into trouble with imperial soldiers, don’t you think I deserved to know?”

  “Nina—”

  She cut across coldly. “Your secrecy will be the death of us,” she said. “I try so hard to protect you—”

  That stung. Now it was my turn to get angry.

  “You’re not the only person in the Fields dealing with all sorts of darkness, okay?” I said. “Maybe I’m up against a lot more than you think. Maybe I’m trying to protect you. How would you know?”

  “That’s right, how would I know? You never told me!”

  There was a pause in which we simply stared at each other.

  “You know what?” Nina said suddenly. “Nobody gives a damn about what happens to girls like us, Reya. I thought we were supposed to stick together. But you’re out for yourself, just like everyone else in this cursed kingdom.”

  I was startled to see tears, like diamonds, clinging to her lashes. She wiped her eyes, but they flowed freely, as though she’d been holding them down for years and they’d finally gotten the best of her.

  “What I really want is stability,” she said, no longer looking at me. “I want someone who’d be there for me, who’d live their truth, who’d choose me until the end of the world. But clearly, you’d just as soon leave—”

  “Nina, that’s not true, and we both know it!” I said, before I could stop myself. “If I could tell you the truth, I would. You have to believe me.”

  “Then answer this,” she said. “Where did you go today?”

  I took a deep breath. “Home,” I said. “I thought my father was in danger. With all the raids, I thought—”

  Nina frowned. “But your father’s a bookbinder, not a rebel.” She caught my expression. “Right?”

  I bit my lip. “Nina—”

  Her eyes darkened. Nina had every reason to hate me; I’d just let her down irreparably. The door of lies between my world and hers had opened just a crack, and all sorts of hell was coming loose. There was no way to fix that.

  Actually, there was. I could tell her the truth.

  But in doing so, I would be terribly endangering the Bookweaver. Was I truly going to put my best friend before my father?

  My head screamed No, but a little part of me, the part I tried to shut away, the part of me that was selfish and resentful towards my father, was screaming louder.

  I looked into Nina’s eyes, the precise color of the clearing storm clouds above. It really wasn’t a choice.

  “I want you to join me at sunset,” I said. “There’s something I think you should know.”

  —

  Although it felt like it never would, the sun finally set, staining the sky with shadowed ink. Nina and I hung up our baskets and headed out the gate, fully aware of everyone staring at me as I passed. Slowly, the bone-weary peasants rumbled out of the Fields in masses, a defeated army stumbling towards retreat.

  Nina still wasn’t speaking to me. She’d said nothing as we walked through the darkening city, but when we turned into the Fringes, her curiosity got the best of her.

  “Reya, wait,” she said at last. “What are you trying to do?”

  “I’m trying to tell you the truth,” I said. “But once I do, there’s no going back. It’s going to be difficult. You could end up in danger.”

  She glanced at me briefly. “Try me,” she said. And so I started with a simple, bald sentence.

  “My father is the Bookweaver.”

  Her anger gave way to blank disbelief. “There’s no way. He’s a myth. He died seven years ago.”

  I met her eyes, holding her gaze steady with mine. “The myths are all true,” I told her. “It started the day Jahan
took over, when he drove the Mages out of Kasmira to secure the throne.”

  Nina’s expression soured at the mention of the king. “I’m listening,” she muttered.

  “The truth is, I’m not actually a peasant,” I said. “I’m the Bookweaver’s daughter. The king tried to kill my father when I was eight years old.”

  I plunged on, afraid that she would stop me. “Magic was outlawed, forcing all the Mages and Yogis to flee. We chose to hide in plain sight, disguised as peasants. That’s how I ended up in the Fields. It was the only way to protect my father’s secret.”

  Nina hesitated. “But I’ve known you for seven years,” she said. “I remember when you were drafted into the Fields. You’ve always been a peasant, just like me.”

  There was a touch of desperation in her voice, as if she was begging for confirmation that our entire friendship wasn’t based on a lie.

  I steeled my nerves, took a deep breath. “No, I’m not,” I said quietly. “And my last name isn’t Patel. It’s Kandhari.”

  I saw her eyes light up in recognition. Her lips silently formed the fabled last name.

  She was still frowning at me, but with less fury in her eyes. I could tell what she was thinking: my story made sense. She just had to decide whether it was true.

  “No,” she said at last. “Your name is Reya Patel. You’re a bookbinder’s daughter. I know you. I know you.”

  There desperation had returned to her voice. I didn’t blame her. The world was shattering under my feet, and I was pulling her down with me.

  “You do,” I insisted. “You do know me. Just not this side of me. Not that it changes anything—”

  Nina looked like I’d slapped her.

  “Of course this changes everything. You were nearly arrested, and now you’re telling me that your father is actually a lost wizard who everyone thought was dead—”