Sisters of the Snake

by Sasha Nanua

  “Wait. I wanted to thank you. For the quilt.” I muster as much gratitude as I can. I certainly lacked as much in the palace.

  “Oh.” Amir’s eyes widen, then he shrugs, hiding a shy smile. “Sanya kept it; it was our mother’s.” He goes silent. “You looked cold.”

  I want to thank him again, but the words feel paltry in comparison to the action. My thanks have never meant much in the palace, if I offered any at all.

  Amir’s smile, slow and lopsided, makes my heart leap. Something compels me to lean forward and I do, trusting my instincts and pressing my lips to his cheek. I linger longer than I should before pulling back.

  Amir lifts a hand to the cheek I kissed him on, now a bright red. “It was no big deal.”

  “It was to me.” I bite my lip and find the courage to ask him, “You were telling Jas about how you didn’t know what you wanted anymore. What did you mean?”

  Amir lowers his hand. “Well . . . look at this.” He gestures at the Foothills, from the tallest tree to the children playing with rags. “I kinda forgot the world could be like this. Peaceful. Caring. My dad’s gift, it reminded me that time is precious. It moves forward, and so do we. My parents’ death wasn’t for nothing.” He clutches the cloth holding the timepiece.

  Amir is right. It is clear how much he admired his father, the same way I once admired Tutor. But it wasn’t simply admiration. It was love.

  As Amir loved his father, I loved Tutor. His death cannot be for nothing. Everything becomes clear. Tutor was more than my teacher or a father figure. He led people to believe in freedom. He taught me to how to be a leader because he was one.

  I can be more than what the stars wish for. And I am just getting started.

  23

  Ria

  Shima’s scales are a curious, buttery yellow as she leads me to the throne room. After last night’s research with Aditi and the snake, I knew two things: I needed to open the Snake Pit, the place that holds those special gems—and maybe the answers I seek—and I would need Shima’s help to do it.

  Now I remain a long distance behind her as she slithers through the halls. I shiver from the sound of her hiss. Her scales ruffle, changing color as my emotions flicker: a deep maroon for anger; yellow for curiosity; soft pink when I recall Mama Anita. Maybe it’s Rani’s connection with Shima as her familiar that’s granted me such a strong connection with the snake. Or maybe my gift is stronger than I realized.

  You spend much time thinking about your magic, for someone so afraid of snakes, Shima says in that snarky tone of hers. You also often muse on that young man, Saeed.

  “No I don’t! And keep your thoughts to yourself,” I bite out. “If you don’t step on my toes, I won’t step on yours. Got it?”

  Snakes don’t have toes, Princess. But yes, I understand the sentiment. And I’m sorry you’re so afraid of me.

  “I never said I was.”

  Everyone fears me, Princess Ria. Even Rani did, once. But love proves stronger than fear—wouldn’t you agree?

  “I . . . guess.” I shake my head. Doesn’t really matter how I feel—I’ll be out of here eventually, far, far away.

  I struggle to keep up, and the way she guides herself smoothly over the tile directly in front of me almost looks like I’m controlling, puppeteering her actions. But Rani told me that snakes are familiars. Friends. Not pets.

  Whatever Shima and I have, it’s definitely not friendship.

  We pass by a hall filled with royal portraits. I recognize one of them: Queen Amrita, her crown shining like the sun. One of the first ranis of Abai, she fought for equal education and passed when she was young. Another story of Mama Anita’s.

  We continue on. I shiver at what I’ll find inside the throne room. It’s the most talked-about place in Abai, the room where snakes kill, and those who catch the ire of the royal family are their prey. Rumors, of course. I never wanted to believe that the royals used their magic to kill. Now I know better.

  When I step inside the room, it’s like the air withholds a gasping breath. I expect to see a writhing sea of snakes, but there’s nothing but a couple of throne chairs and the shining marble floors.

  “Where’s the Pit?” I wonder aloud.

  It’s not something that simply exists, Shima says. It appears by magic and was forged from it with the help of a powerful ancient talisman.

  “The raja’s scepter,” I whisper, remembering the book. My eyes flicker to Shima’s. “The scepter opens the Pit.”

  Indeed. But that was not the only talisman to exist. The scepter is one of many relics from Amran, Shima explains, forming a circle around me.

  “What do you mean, one of many?”

  There is more than one talisman, Shima says. Each Master had their own, an extension of their magic, if you will, with their own unique powers. Many of these talismans have disappeared over the years.

  “Where’ve the other talismans gone?”

  Most have been lost, hidden, or buried.

  “Great.” I turn to Shima and whisper, “I don’t have the scepter. How am I supposed to open the Pit?”

  The book didn’t tell you one thing. There are more ways than one to open the Pit. You can use your magic. It’s already inside your bones, Shima says. You need only awaken it. Pull it from your marrow and empty it from within.

  Of course. I roll my eyes.

  Think of this as your first lesson in magic, Shima says. Many magic users, especially novices, invoke the name of their Master to help them connect more deeply to their power. Rani did that a lot as a child, and still has a habit of doing so.

  “I’m not invoking any Master. Plus, the Snake Master was deceptive,” I add. “And no one knows where he went after the Great Masters’ Battle.”

  Deceptive? Shima wonders. So the story goes. You said yourself that stories change depending on who’s telling them. Perhaps there is more you do not know.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  That though he is your ancestor, you can control your choices. You can make your own magic.

  I ponder that.

  Lesson two: Snakespeaking isn’t only about communicating with snakes. Snake language has a different alphabet of sorts, that’s all instinctive feelings instead of letters. Shima must notice the lost look on my face, because she rolls her eyes and huffs. Rani had trouble understanding it at first. It helped her to see the magic in her mind as drawers, each filled with power she could funnel at her will. Your gift, however, feels quite different. Like thieving, it appears by instinct.

  I think of all the times I’ve stolen simple foods, jewels. It is an instinct. I relax the way I would before a steal, and the air seems to shift. I gaze around. And then I hear it beneath the floor: the snakes, a hundred whispers that sound like an endless rattle of hisses.

  I press a palm to the ground and shut my eyes. “What do I do now?”

  It’s simple, Shima says. I stand as she forms a ring, as if outlining the Pit itself. Focus on the life beneath your feet . . . and let it open.

  With one hand still on the ground, I do as Shima says, letting those hums drive deeper into my brain. But suddenly, all I can think about is the sound of snakes piercing flesh—all the deaths that’ve taken place here.

  Including Mama Anita’s.

  Repulsed, I push away. “I—I can’t.”

  You can, Shima says. The Pit is not a death place; it is a life force.

  “For you, maybe,” I retort, though I can’t stop thinking about Mama Anita. She died, right here, and for what reason?

  Think not of the deaths that have occurred but the spirits that remain. Go to them.

  I think of her. The one who took care of me when the rest of the world forgot I existed. Tears fill my eyes, and my heart angrily snaps in two.

  Beneath my feet, the marble cracks. Shima nods, like she’s been waiting for this to happen.

  Oh.

  She did that on purpose, letting my emotion lead me. Rani said something about magic being b
uried deep within us but coming out when we touched. When our emotions heightened. Maybe Shima knew that getting me to feel that yearning was the only way to open the Pit.

  A hole yawns open like a monster’s mouth, a dark cavern expanding right in the middle of the throne room floor. I shrink away from it, but a morbid curiosity blooms, forcing me to peer over the edge.

  Darkness, save the glint of scales, gleaming like black diamonds. The Pit walls sparkle, carrying the faintest glow of gems embedded in its walls.

  The snakes writhe with hunger as I say, “Don’t tell me I need to go down there.”

  Shima shakes her head. Wouldn’t want to get that lehenga dirty, now would we? The Pit carries deep magic; you seek one of these gems, carrying the souls of the dead. You need only reach in, grab one, and focus on the life you wish to see.

  “Even better,” I mutter. I try to shake off my nerves, but my body’s shivering all over, and not just because of the cool palace air.

  I reach a hand into the Pit, inch by inch, touching the cold, damp walls. I listen as Shima tells me to feel for a gem I can dislodge. The coppery smell of the Pit overtakes me, and I press my fist to my mouth. This is just another steal, I remind myself. I’ve stolen plenty of jewels. This should be no different.

  Except for the sea of scales beneath me, glimmering like sunlight reflecting off water.

  I move quickly, reaching deeper for one of the gems, an emerald as green as the lush Moga Jungle. I grunt as I stretch farther, inches away from my goal. But something rises from the Pit—steam, followed by a voice that makes me physically scramble back.

  “Return to my hiding place, the gift in the cobra’s mouth . . .”

  The voice makes my teeth rattle, like it’s right inside my head and I can’t shake it out. It’s all around me, like a voice of the skies, but that’s impossible.

  In seconds, the steam disappears, and the voice with it, like it never even existed. I shake my head furiously as if to rid myself of it further. Must be hearing things, honestly. My mind is getting soft. Maybe from the too-rich food. Or oversleeping on Rani’s too-cushioned bed.

  I reach down again, and finally, the jewel shifts in place. I collect it in my palm, watching as the gem glistens up at me. When I hold it to my face, I hear something faintly from below: a scream, maybe a sob. Then the sound of hissing snakes. I know what they’re saying; their language is my own now. Feed. Feed us.

  I scramble away from the Pit’s walls as it stitches itself back together like a sewn wound. The floor crackles until the Pit disappears altogether.

  Raja’s beard, I’m never doing that again. The hisses and screams rattle in my head. The sounds of people who died in the Pit.

  But I don’t have time to waste thinking about this monstrous place. “Now?” I ask, staring at the precious jewel. “How do I use it?”

  Lesson number three, Shima says. The Pit is the home of darkness. To find the soul you seek, you must look into the light.

  “What’s with all the vague riddles?” I wonder. But Shima’s already twisting out of the throne room, and right now I’ve got no option but to take her advice.

  “Bye, I guess,” I grumble after her.

  I bundle up my chunni and hide the gem in there. It glints emerald-green and fits snugly in my palm, exuding energy. The kind I don’t want to hold on to for long. This isn’t some random gem I’d steal from the palace riches, like I once yearned to. This is a gem that holds the spirits of the dead. A soul I can call upon.

  While the courtiers are busy with breakfast, I rush into the courtyards where I met Aditi last night. A gardener passes by, giving a low bow. I almost respond, then stop. I’m not the one who’s supposed to be bowing, but it’s strange to just take it in stride.

  When I’m alone by a tamarind tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves, I look into the light and clutch the jewel to my chest. I know who I have to summon. I just don’t know if I have the strength to do it.

  But I have to. How else will I prove I belong here?

  “Mama, do you hear me? I need you.” When nothing happens, I clutch the gem harder and shut my eyes, surprised at how easily I summon the snake magic in my veins and fuse it with the gem. I think of her holding me, clutching me tight like she’d never let me go. “Please, Mama. Come back to me.”

  When I open my eyes, there’s nothing but sunlight marring my vision and a few birds eyeing me quizzically. I think of Shima’s words again. That snake had given me a riddle, and I thought I decoded it. Wasn’t she saying to look into the light? Or maybe . . .

  Maybe she meant something else.

  The Pit is the home of darkness. To find the soul you seek, you must look into the light.

  I hold the gem up to the sunlight, watching the rays refract and form a rainbow of color. “Mama, I’m calling you,” I say, voice wavering.

  A few seconds pass. Nothing. I’ve failed again, I think, but after a moment the air seems to shift. The sun filters through the gem until a mirage appears like a hazy, wavering vision on a scorching summer’s day. I step back, lowering the gem until the strange light takes shape. Then, a voice I’ve heard a thousand times.

  “Mama Anita,” I cry. The voice seems to come from within me and without, forming a bubble of warmth. In the light, I make out the faint shape of Mama Anita’s round cheeks, her thin lips and gentle eyes. It’s really her. Her soul, her spirit. Maybe this is why I came to the palace . . . maybe this is my last shot at ever saying goodbye to my mama. Even if this is all I achieve, it would be worth it.

  “Ria.” She smiles.

  “Mama, is that really you?” I say, blinking the tears away. “I need you.”

  “I know, dear child,” she whispers. “I have felt your spirit near.”

  “You have?” I sniff. “Mama, did you know—”

  “I sensed your magic the moment we met.” Mama Anita nods. “You have always been special.” Her voice sounds like it’s raining from the skies.

  I press a hand to my lips. Mama Anita knew, all this time?

  “Did you know why I was given up?”

  Mama Anita’s face goes serious. “Ria, do not harbor resentment. You have been protected.”

  “Protected?” I blurt. On the contrary. I was abandoned like garbage. “Mama, you’re the one who always protected me. Then I ran. I ran away from everything, right into this whole mess. And I don’t know how to get out.”

  My heart stutters, trips. “Tell me, Mama. Please.” I glance left and right, afraid someone might see us out in the open, but the gardens are luckily empty at this hour. “Tell me about the night we met. The night I came to you.”

  Mama Anita nods. “There was a prophecy.”

  I gasp.

  “The raja entrusted me to care for you because of a prophecy about twins.”

  “What?” I shake my head. The raja knew Mama Anita? Then why would he execute her, the woman he entrusted to take care of his daughter, if he knew Mama personally? “I don’t understand. What did the prophecy say?” My heartbeat lodges in my throat.

  “That was never known to me.” Mama Anita says. “But Ria, listen: This prophecy does not matter. Your life is yours to choose. Your fate is yours to hold. You have always been my family.”

  Mama Anita’s form begins to ripple.

  “Don’t go, Mama,” I cry. “I have so much more I need to know. I need to find my birth papers. I need to find proof of who I am.”

  “Retrace your steps; go back to the start; and follow your heart. Remember who you once were, and find who you can become.”

  Tears clog my throat. “I will. I promise.”

  The stone is growing dark. “I’ll always be with you, my daughter,” Mama Anita says. “From morning to night. Dawn till dusk.”

  “Don’t leave me!” I whisper fiercely. Not yet.

  But I know, as I clutch the stone to my chest, that she won’t be gone completely. Not really. She’ll be in my heart; she always has been.

  “I’ll never forget yo
u, Mama,” I tell her. “I love you.”

  The dust and smoke all fade away. I fall to the ground, breathing heavily. Tears prickle my eyes before I spot a glimmer of scales. Shima, here, her eyes dark, as if she can feel my sadness.

  Despite my instincts, I hold out a hand and let her curl onto me. She twists, letting her head sit on my lap. I stroke her scales as I look out at the gardens.

  For the first time in a while, I don’t feel so alone.

  24

  Rani

  Pain, hot and flashing, lances through my skull as I slam against the rough stone beneath me, vision blurring. I groan.

  Another point to Irfan.

  Fresh, purpling bruises mark my body from the spar; I have yet to determine if those marks are badges of courage or foolishness.

  “Up,” Irfan calls again. The world is dizzying as I rise and spot Amir on the side, face tight at the sight of my fall. Tonight’s training session is far from formal; we spar on empty grounds on the outskirts of the Foothills with Irfan’s strange assortment of weaponry. Last night’s practice involved a bow and arrow, a princess’s game I was familiar with. I’d grown up with archery lessons from Father’s noblemen, but physical combat appears to be Irfan’s specialty.

  Never has a fencing session at the palace ended up with me like this.

  I rub a sore spot on my back as Irfan’s instructions knife through me: fighting is about instinct, not knowledge. In the palace, I was taught that to spar is a dance: a choreographed movement of your foot and parry of your sword. Fencing was never about survival, merely intellect and grace.

  No matter. I lunge again, aiming my practice sword at Irfan’s leg. I’ve trained in fencing for over four years; I know how to attack.

  Yet with a nimble movement Irfan dodges my attack and hooks a leg under mine. I fall face-first this time, the world canting sideways.

  “Irfan, is this really necessary?” Amir asks again. Irfan ignores the comment.

  “I said to keep your mind clear. Only get up if you’re ready to fall back down again.”

  I spit dirt from my mouth, rise to my knees, and find my footing. When Sanya said we would begin training, she certainly meant it.