“I don’t know where they are. I can’t direct my powers at them,” said Sharati. “But I can direct them at your soldiers if they don’t start searching!”
Devendra’s voice, tight with annoyance, rang through the trees. “And risk failing my father? The girl is his utmost priority. And now that she's unlocked her powers, there's no way we’re defeating her without magic.”
There was a heavy pause.
“All right, Zakir,” said Sharati. “I’ll try.”
Her voice grew deadly soft. I could barely hear her words, only fragments of a powerful language that sent chills down my spine.
“Vindati… nivista… vyada …”
A breath of warm wind swept over us and back.
There was a crash in the forest. “My lady?” began Prince Devendra, but he was met with silence.
“Maybe Sharati’s dead,” someone said. “That magic must’ve tired her out.”
I couldn’t believe my luck. Evidently, neither could Devendra.
“She’s fainted,” said the crown prince smugly. “We ought to leave the hag here, for all she’s worth. Except my father would be furious. I don’t know why he relies on these Mage freaks.”
Nina met my eye. It was time to go, while Devendra was busy figuring out what to do. Slowly—afraid of making so much as a rustle—we untangled ourselves from the reeds and waded across the bank. We scrabbled onto dry land, and then we ran, our wet clothes like weights on our bodies. Nina was at my side, sprinting so fast she was a blur of dark hair.
I was exhausted by the time Nina finally slowed to a halt, clothes fully dried. My breath was ragged, and my heartbeat felt like an elephant was dancing on my chest. Without warning, my knees gave way.
Nina caught me before I hit the jungle floor. She, too, was bent over, breathing hard from the exertion.
“We need to keep moving,” she said. “We’re only a few miles from our old camp.” She glanced at the scrape on my face from the branch. “We have to do something about that. You’ll bleed to death.”
I leaned back as she set to work, tearing a strip from one of the dried shirts. She wrapped it tightly around my forehead.
“There,” she said, stepping back to survey her handiwork. “It should last for a little bit, at least.”
I glanced at my reflection in the flat side of the knife. My short hair stuck up in all directions, and my face was covered in dirt, making it appear as though I’d suddenly tanned. Next to me, Nina’s hair was somehow completely unruffled, but her face showed worry.
“That was way too close,” she said. “How did they find us?”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But there’s a squadron of soldiers, the crown prince, and a Mage on their side, so it’s only a matter of time until they find us. We’re outnumbered in the forest.”
Nina closed her eyes, thinking. “You’re right. They’re on horseback, so there’s no chance we can outrun them, at least not through the jungle.”
She looked up at me, and her eyes lit up. “You know, maybe we’ve been thinking about this all wrong. Hiding in the forest—we’re too easy to track. Maybe we’re better off hiding in plain sight. In a city.”
I wasn’t so sure. “The cities will be filled with soldiers,” I pointed out.
“But they’re so big, we have a chance of going unnoticed,” said Nina. “We’re getting nowhere on foot. If we can make it to a city, we can stock up on supplies, steal a horse. Either way, we need to move fast.”
She was right, of course. I pulled out the map and scanned it quickly.
“Since we’re going west, we’ll pass by Bharata,” I said, reading through my father’s notes. “It’s the second-biggest city in Kasmira after the Raj. It says here that my father grew up there,” I added, surprised.
Nina squeezed my hand. “Then it’s decided,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see Bharata.”
The bright noon gave way to long afternoon shadows; we kept walking until it was dark. We set up camp near a jungle cave, but didn’t dare light a fire and alert the soldiers on our trail. I shivered in the cold night breeze.
Nina gave me a sideways look. “I’ve been on the run with you for two days and I still don’t know enough about you,” she said. “The real you, anyways.”
I hesitated. Memories had become painful to me, but this was Nina, and I owed her that much. I took a deep breath and let the words weave themselves.
—
For as long as she could remember, her life had been shaped by words. Words of mystique and mythology. Words of magic that glowed like candles in her heart. Words that transformed the Bookweaver into the living legacy of his ancestors. Words of promise that wove themselves into her destiny.
The Bookweaver’s daughter was raised by a village, built by her loving mother, who raised her to be strong, and her powerful father, who instilled magic in her blood. Grandparents, uncles, even cousins she had since forgotten. Her family name was strong, but her heritage was stronger, and the ancestors guarded over her each night.
She grew up in her father’s library, climbing the bookshelves to watch the distinguished guests—Mages traveling from lands across the desert. Writers and sorcerers and warriors and princes. She especially liked the king, Viraj, because he’d always bring her gifts: a peacock quill, an astrolabe, and on festival days, a book.
It was close to her eighth birthday that things began to change. There was tension rippling through the streets—a darkness on the edge of town. At night, the girl heard burning outside the house—enough fire to fill a thousand suns. There was one name her parents kept repeating: Zakir. It sounded like a curse.
One day, the king stopped visiting. Her father was solemn for days afterwards. It worried her to see her father like that, but she wasn’t truly afraid, not until the night all the windows broke in her house. There was an explosion of sound, like glass had turned to rain. When it was over, she rushed down the stairs.
There stood the Bookweaver, covered in blood, but her mother was nowhere in sight.
That night, there were visitors to the house with fast, hushed voices and mournful faces. They told her that her mother had joined the warm and wonderful realm of the ancestors. And while the girl was relieved, she couldn’t help but wonder why her mother couldn’t have taken her along.
She fled under in the dark of night, following the Bookweaver to a dingy hut. She shed her name, Kandhari, and assumed a new name, Patel. She soon learned that it was one thing to read fiction, and quite another to live in it. She wove lies into tapestries of secrets, but the problem with fiction is that if left unchecked, it comes true.
It comes true.
—
Nina had tears in her eyes when I had finished. “Reya,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ve made my peace with it,” I said. “So did my father.”
She squeezed my arm. “The moment I met you, I could tell you weren’t an orphan,” she said.
I stared at her. “How?”
Nina shrugged. “They—we—orphans can tell each other apart. When nobody’s loved you, it shows. You can see it in our eyes,” she said. “But you? You were loved. I never knew your father, but I know he loved you. You were lucky.”
I looked away.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe never knowing and never hurting is better than loving and losing.” I was irritated to feel tears stinging my eyes, and I fought to keep my voice even. “Because God knows that losing him, it hurts like hell.”
Nina sighed. “How did you get through it, losing your parents?” I asked her. “How do you get through it?”
She shrugged. “Some people say you can’t,” she said. “But that can’t be true. I don’t believe that you get a one-shot chance at being loved, and if they die, it’s over. I mean, I hardly remember my parents anyways, and maybe you’re right, maybe I am better off that way. But I promise you, it will stop hurting eventually. It has to.”
I no
dded. “Right now, it just doesn’t feel real. It feels like tomorrow we’ll be back home and my father will be waiting for me. It’s just … my father was my anchor, and I don’t know who I am without him.”
She smiled sideways at me, and I hastily wiped my eyes. “Reya, listen to me. You’re going to find yourself again. We’ll find it together in Indira.”
“You can be my new family,” I told her. “We’ll be like a sisterhood of orphans.”
“The sorority of the depressed and disillusioned.” Nina smiled. “You can be our mascot.”
CHAPTER SIX
We walked until we could see them in the distance: the Aharya Mountains, coated in swirling mist. They looked like they belonged in one of my father’s myths—alluring and boundless, promising adventure and a hint of melancholy.
“The mountains are breathtaking,” murmured Nina. “I’ve never seen anything so massive, not even the mahal.”
Even though we were still miles away, the Aharyas were so tall that we could barely see the peaks.
“They make me feel small,” Nina continued quietly, tracing my father’s map with reverence. “This journey makes me think—well, there’s so much out there. Mountains and cities and rivers, entire chapters full of legacies over generations …”
Her fingers ran, almost unconsciously, against the embossed cover. “Someday, I hope I can learn to read.”
As I looked at her, I imagined my life if I couldn’t read. It occurred to me that as Bookweaver, I could teach a thousand girls like Nina to read. I could give them a magic more potent than anything a Mage could summon. It was a hopeful thought.
But the hope didn’t last long, because at some point, we became painfully aware of the growls coming from deep within our stomachs. We hadn’t found anything edible all day.
I carefully rationed the fibrous innards I had scooped from a jute tree—an old trick I’d learned from my father.
Nina took her portion gratefully. “Remember the barley naan in the Fields?” she asked between barky mouthfuls.
“Even week-old naan bread sounds delicious now,” I agreed. “And potatoes—God, potato curry—sautéed in butter and spices.”
She laughed. “Forget the peasant food. What I really want is meat. Glistening, juicy, and well-seasoned meat.”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to quit eating meat,” I said. “It’s not like I could afford the butcher’s anyways, but I would like to minimize the pain I inflict on the world. I mean, we’ve been exploited all our lives. Why do the same to animals?”
Nina shook her head disbelievingly. “I don’t know how else to say this, but you’re actually a buzzkill,” she said. “I can’t believe we’re friends.”
I was about to retort when I suddenly caught a scent quite separate from the earthy jute. Clearly wafting through the jungle was a smoky aroma—heavy, succulent, loaded.
Nina’s head turned with a swiftness that reminded me forcefully of a hound on the scent. “Is it just me?” she whispered.
I shook my head, my stomach already dancing with excitement. Food meant human proximity, which could be dangerous, but I was too hungry to think straight. She met my eye and together, we crept in the direction of the smell.
In the clearing before us stood a cluster of empty tents. Between them, I could see what looked like a full boar, roasting serenely in a pit of coals. The camp was silent except for the rustling of tents in the wind.
“I can’t believe this,” said Nina. She blinked slowly. “Maybe the hunger has messed with our minds and this is a grand hallucination.”
I was already striding past the empty tents. “Come on, Nina. Our dinner’s getting cold.”
We wasted no time preparing the food—we pulled the meat apart with our bare hands. I had just taken my first bite when Nina suddenly gasped.
“Wait a minute,” she demanded. “What happened to inflicting less pain on the world?”
I glared at her and she laughed a little too hard. “Shut up and eat, or I’ll inflict pain on you,” I warned.
We set out to steal supplies before the camp’s occupants returned. The tents contained much-needed clothing, and I gleefully traded my dirty bamboo shoes for sturdy boots. Whoever stayed here obviously lived off the land, because I unearthed compasses, water skins, and even a bow.
I’d never shot a bow in my life, but in Nina’s hands, this could be a valuable tool.
“Nina?” I called.
She didn’t respond, so I dragged the bow into the silent clearing. For a second, I was alone except for the rustling of old trees. Then my heart jumped into my mouth.
Nina was standing so still, it looked like she was rooted into the earth. Her eyes were fixated on the sword that was resting against her throat.
Gripping its handle was a young woman who loomed over Nina, her eyes glinting like steel. All around her lurked a group of people who had appeared so suddenly, it was as if they’d grown out of the jungle itself. Without thinking, my hands flew to the bow that I didn't think I knew how to use. I notched an arrow.
“Put the bow down,” said the woman.
I hesitated, and she jostled Nina closer to the sword, causing her to shriek.
My heart hammered as I lowered the bow to the ground.
“I'm sorry,” I said, blood pounding in my ears. “I don't know who you are, but I don't want any trouble. Please let her go.”
The woman laughed. “She talks like a city girl, with all the pleases and thank yous,” she said to her companion, who also chuckled. She dropped Nina unceremoniously to the ground. “Little girl, I think you asked for trouble the minute you laid waste to my boar. I don't take kindly to thieves. I ought to turn you in.”
“That's funny,” I said. “Do all thieves have such straightlaced morals, or is it just you?”
Nina’s eyes were wide. She shook her head frantically, clearly warning me to shut up.
I pressed on recklessly. “Because from what I’ve seen—the traveling camp, the weapons, the suspicious goods—I'm guessing that you're not going to turn us in. In fact, I'm willing to bet that you’re in even more trouble with the law than we are.”
I didn't know where my sudden courage was coming from, but I was staring the woman in the eye. She appraised me, but she no longer looked threatening. She wore a strange expression—was it shock, amusement, or pity?
“Thieves’ honor,” she said. “From the looks of you, you haven't been a fugitive for more than a week. So I'm going to teach you the first rule: you never steal from another thief.”
“Noted,” I said. “Now, if you let us go, we'll be gone.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “I don't think so. You'll be dead in a fortnight on your own. And since I like you, I think you’d better stay with us for a while.”
She sheathed her sword and Nina lurched back towards me. I followed the woman before she could change her mind.
Another man led us silently to seats around the fire, handing us more plates of food. We gulped it down hastily, too terrified to do anything else within arm’s length of his sword.
“Why are you helping us?” I asked at last.
The woman glanced up at us from the knife she was polishing.
“That’s a funny thing to ask,” she said. “Second rule of fugitive life: don't question your meals. You never know when you’ll get another one.”
“Lay off them, Aisha,” said the young man next to her. He smiled at us. “My name’s Niam Chori, and Aisha is my sister. We’re helping you because we look out for our own. I don't know who you are, but anyone who’s hiding from Jahan Zakir is a friend of ours.”
Nina and I exchanged glances. “So everyone in this camp is on the run from the king?” said Nina. “You've been fugitives for the last seven years?”
Niam Chori shrugged. “Some of us. Aisha and I lost our parents when they got caught harboring Mages. Aran here,” he added, nodding at the silent man who had fed us, “was a spy on the royal Council before he was caught. Jah
an didn’t let him forget it.”
Aran nodded gravely, and I realized that he was mute. The king had taken his voice.
I turned back to Aisha and Niam. “You’re the resistance,” I said. “You stood up for the Mages and the Yogis when they were being driven out of the country.”
Aisha nodded. “Officially, we’re the Renegades,” she said. “We’re headed to Bharata to meet up with the rest of our forces. Rumor has it that there’s still one Yogi alive in Kasmira. And we’re going to find her before the king does.”
I could practically hear Nina’s heart thumping beside me.
Niam smiled. “So that's our story. What about yours?”
Nina looked at me, and I could almost read her thoughts. It was dangerous to reveal ourselves to anyone, no matter who they were. But on the other hand, we stood little chance on our own, playing the game of survival without even knowing the rules.
She nodded imperceptibly—we agreed.
“I have a feeling that your search for the last Yogi is about to get a lot shorter,” I managed.
Niam’s eyes widened, and the gravity of my words registered on his face. “I’m Reya Kandhari,” I said, confirming his look of dawning shock. “I’m the Bookweaver’s daughter.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nina’s muscles tighten in preparation to fight or flee. But all around me, the Renegades did something unexpected. Not all at once—some led by Niam, some of their own accord, some caught up in the movement of the crowd around them—they sunk to their knees before me, a river rippling in the face of the wind.
The Bookweaver's Daughter Page 5