by Rohit Gaur
“Precisely, my boy.”
Later, after the ship had set sail back onto the ocean, Tarun found a mirror in the bathroom below the deck and examined his face closely for signs of change—was his nose elongating into a beak? Were his ears shrinking down? Was his hair curving upward into plumage? For now, his face mostly looked the same, but he felt he could see the beginnings of the drift. It sunk in how limited his time in the Veiled Lands needed to be. He couldn’t go back to his family, his school, his whole life as a boy in a bird’s body. And he certainly had no intention of staying permanently in this backward place.
After dinner and a short rest, Tarun returned to the top deck to see Radigar maneuvering the boat in between the shoals of several small islands. Along the craggy cliffs of the steep island walls, small dwellings had been built precariously on jutting rock shelves, their windows blazing with light among the dusky twilight. Here and there, rope bridges spanned the islands high overhead, loose vines draping down almost to the water.
They approached a large marina with boats of various sizes parked in a long line along the docks. Cheerful music played from a brightly lit structure directly behind the boat slip, a long veranda looking over the small harbor. It looked like a party was being thrown: people were dancing to the music and drinking from large cups. Torches had been lit all along the railing of the veranda, lending bright light and shadows to the gathering.
Radigar skillfully pulled the boat into an empty slot and tied it to the dock. He winked at Tarun.
“We’ll be stoppin’ here for the night. Got to fuel up and get some supplies. Don’t worry, we’re among friends here.” He looked up at the party in full swing above them. “Good friends.”
Tarun followed Radigar and Galerest up a steep flight of stairs to the building with a large sign out front: Calliope Cantina. White flowers the size of car tires grew on thick vines all around the entrance, perfuming the air with a thick fragrance.
Once inside, Radigar and Galerest ordered gaur spice whiskey, and a sweet milky drink for Tarun. They pulled up to a tall table and watched the dancing take place on the porch. It was a great jumble of creatures and the music seemed to sustain a diverse set of movements: an orangutan with long arms swung a yellow cat around in wide circles, a short gopher practiced a small jig, two electric-blue toucans swept by in an elaborate tango. The music, Tarun could now see, was being played by a twelve-piece band, led by an iguana singer with a bright red belly and backed up by a chorus of seagulls. The mood was convivial and Tarun felt some of his earlier stress melt away. Before long, Radigar had been coaxed from his chair to join in some of the dancing, leaving Tarun and Galerest alone.
“You did well today, Tarun,” Galerest said. “I underestimated you, I think.”
“I got lucky,” Tarun replied, embarrassed and pleased by the compliment. He nevertheless did feel he had been lucky. “I don’t think the Serpentine realized that the fog would prevent the hawks from being able to attack once I’d left the nest. I think they assumed no one would be able to get through at all.”
“Aye, Tarun, you’re right there. The Serpentine believe strongly in their own invincibility. That is assuredly their greatest weakness. All of our victories against them so far have stemmed directly from their overconfidence.”
Tarun thought about the conversation he had witnessed earlier at the rebel hideout in the Market Sway. “How many belong to the rebellion, Galerest?”
“Officially? Not as many as we would like. But I know that we have the hearts and minds of the Veiled Lands. They are with us, even if they have been frightened into silence.”
Galerest looked up as a pair approached their table.
“Actually, Tarun, now’s your chance to get to know the rebellion a bit better. Oedific! My old friend! How are you?”
Galerest rose and embraced an immense man, a bear wearing heavy iron gray armor over his brown matted fur. The bear—Oedific—stood several feet over him, so he bent down and lifted Galerest briefly from contact with the floor.
“Galerest! It has been far too long.”
“What brings you to Calliope?”
“Oh, the usual: refueling and resting. Before I forget, allow me to introduce Naddie. She’s a traveler from the Bare Lands.”
A young girl stepped forward from behind the large man and smiled at Tarun and Galerest. She had long, glistening black hair, large dark eyes, and a shy face. Dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt, she looked maybe twelve or thirteen.
“Hello,” she introduced herself, letting her gaze linger only for a moment on each of them. Tarun felt his face go warm, the room suddenly unbearably loud and hot.
Galerest pulled out chairs for each of them and they joined them at the table. Oedific gestured for Galerest to lean in and spoke in hushed tones:
“We’re on an important mission from command to recover the stolen objects of our deva, Gitche Manitou, and free him from his captivity in the New York temple. Naddie here was recruited to assist in our efforts. Or, I should say, I was recruited to assist her. She’s proven a right capable warrior, she has.”
A smile crept over Galerest’s face as he snuck a sly glance at Tarun. “Well, what do you know. We’re also on a mission to recover the objects of our deva, Ganesha. In fact, we’re celebrating our first success this evening.”
Broad smiles were shared, drinks poured and repoured, and they fell into a long evening of discussion and storytelling. Eventually, Oedific and Galerest took to trading news, so Naddie leaned over to speak directly in Tarun’s ear.
“Have you begun to transcend yet, Tarun?”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Yeah,” he said, shyly. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and showed her the feathery hairs on his forearm.
In turn, she pulled up the cuff of her jean and showed Tarun a strip of her calf. Grayish-yellow fur covered the skin. “I only noticed it yesterday,” she said, “but it’s come on fast. How many objects have you rescued?”
“Just one.”
She nodded. “Us too. Two days ago. The sacred ketoh, or armband, of Gitche Manitou. The Serpentine had hidden it at the bottom of a well in the Aquiliye Oasis, out on the desert plains. It was guarded by a nest of rattlesnakes.”
“The axe of Ganesha,” Tarun traded back. “In a hawk nest. High in a tree in the Forests of Aeran.”
Naddie shuddered. “Better you than me. I hate heights.”
“I thought I did too,” Tarun conceded. “But it wasn’t so bad.”
“I’m sure you were very brave,” she teased.
Tarun’s stomach flipped over. He carefully studied the glass in front of him.
Soon, Radigar returned to the table and declared it time for rest. They parted ways with Oedific and Naddie, but not before she exchanged a hug with Tarun and wished him success on the rest of his journey.
“S-same to you,” he managed to get out.
Walking back along the dock to the Needle, Radigar elbowed him in the side. “Well, now, ain’t she a pretty one fer ye.”
In the dark, Tarun allowed himself a small grin.
Ganesha smiled. Cross-legged and stiff-backed, he was looking into a shallow basin of water, whose image showed him the progress of Tarun and Galerest on their journey. He had witnessed Tarun prying the axe from the branch, fending off the hawks as he climbed down the trunk, making his way through the woods. It was a relief to know that he had made the right decision in selecting Tarun. He was proving himself stronger and wiser than Ganesha himself had even anticipated. And now, with the recovery of the axe from its hiding place, he could already feel his strength returning.
Tarun’s journey was far from over, but he had begun it well, Ganesha thought. One task completed, two to go.
Chapter 11
EMPTINESS
The next morning, the Needle set sail for Bergine, a sparsely populated country to the north, arriving in late morning at a quaint but dilapidated port town, perched between a rocky shore and a startlingly steep moun
tain range that rose abruptly only a half mile from the water. Without foothills or any gentle slope, the effect of the landscape was dramatic and foreboding.
As soon as they had docked at a rough-hewn rock jetty, Galerest had quickly bounded ashore. Radigar explained that he had gone to arrange a conveyance that could carry them up along the steep mountain trails.
“You wouldn’t want to walk up all that way, my little friend. You wouldn’t make it halfway before your legs gave out.”
Tarun examined the mountain range spread out along the shore as far in each direction as he could see. He had thought the treetop was at a great height, but these peaks put them to shame. At school, he had learned about the Himalayas, the great mountain range that spread across northern India, passing right through the heart of Kashmir. Everyone knew the name of Mount Everest, the highest peak in the world. In his classroom, there was even a large picture of it, a great blue and white mound capped by a granite pyramid that seemed to pierce the sky. The Grande Mountain Range of Bergine looked like a whole line of Mount Everests, each outbidding the others for height, steepness, and inhospitable gloom.
When Galerest returned an hour later, he came with two shaggy men with faces like oxen pulling a sturdy wooden cart filled with loose hay. They spoke a language Tarun could not understand, but even to Galerest they said little. Hurriedly, Galerest prepared a pack and then helped Tarun climb into the cart. Radigar waved a quick goodbye and then they were off down a rutted packed-earth road headed straight for the nearest mountain. The ride was rough and bumpy, which made Tarun glad for the soft piles of sweet-smelling hay. He watched the port town disappear behind the clouds of dust raised by the swiftly moving cart and the landscape gradually shifted from the scraggly pines of the coast to a barren rocky plain thick with brown grasses. At the foot of the mountain, the road abruptly rose to a steep incline, sliding Tarun and Galerest to the back of the cart. After a few minutes, Tarun dared to twist himself around and glance back down the road. The port town now lay like a pebble on the beach, so swiftly had they ascended up the winding mountain path.
“Where are we going, Galerest?” Tarun finally asked, as he turned around to consider again the strong backs of the cart-pulling oxen.
“We are headed to Candeuil, capital city of the Ovi people. It is—I mean, it was—a great city.”
“What do you mean was?”
“The story is not a happy one, I’m afraid. For centuries, Candeuil was a mountain citadel, a prosperous and well-guarded town protected by its remote location and impenetrable walls. It was a favorite stop for travelers making the trek over the Grande Range, a place they could stop, rest, and trade goods. I myself had occasion to stop here when the city was still great. The Ovi were a proud people, proud of their heritage, their traditions, and their great city. They could be distant, excessively formal, a bit given to taking offense, but always respectful and generous toward visitors.
“Their haughtiness became their downfall, however. About six years ago, an army of Serpentine arrived, demanding entry to the city. Suspicious of their intentions, the Ovi closed the gates and refused them. The Serpentine sent in a message demanding they open the gates and submit to their authority. When the Ovi refused again, the Serpentine army lay siege to the city. For a year they blocked all access to Candeuil. No food or other provisions were allowed through the blockade. But the Ovi had long anticipated a siege as their major weakness and had sufficient resources to outlast a lengthy siege. With one exception: water.”
Galerest paused, letting his eyes wander to the surrounding terrain. Then he continued:
“You see, Tarun, Candeuil obtained its water from a massive aqueduct that funneled rainwater gathered from the surrounding mountains into the city. When the Serpentine eventually discovered this aqueduct—it was cleverly camouflaged within a natural ridge of rock—they found a way to drill inside and . . .”
Galerest paused again.
“Well, they poisoned the water supply. Same kind of venom they used in the fog, fatal if taken in sufficient doses. Within a week, half the city had died, including all the young and the sick. Shortly after, the city surrendered.”
Tarun swallowed hard. “So what happened to the rest of the Ovi?” he asked tentatively.
“Enslaved,” Galerest said quietly. “Made to work for the Serpentine. The Ovi are great masons, so they carried them off to assist in the construction of new monuments and building projects, far off in the southern islands, the ancestral home of the Serpentine. I haven’t laid an eye on an Ovi in some time.”
“So Candeuil is empty? Who lives there now?”
“No one. The city was ruined as a warning from the Serpentine to the people of Bergine. They locked the gates with powerful enchantments that keep out any creature from the Veiled Lands who tries to enter. Again, we believe you may be able to pass through.”
“And one of Ganesha’s objects is inside the city?”
“Yes, his rope. The rope that helps a believer climb to their full potential and binds them to the truth.”
With those words, Galerest fell into a silent reverie. Tarun settled himself down into the hay, trying to make himself more comfortable. The path on which they traveled was now a narrow dirt road that adhered precariously to the side of the mountain. Looking over the edge made him nervous and a bit nauseated, so he opted to crouch down lower. The swaying of the cart soon lulled him into a fitful, dream-plagued sleep.
A semicircle of faces looked expectantly at Arjun Sharma. Kashmiri soldiers had begun their push into the militant strongholds of the north under the command of a general sent to lead the operation. Word had trickled back to headquarters that the soldiers had already detained dozens of suspected militants for questioning. Now, the general requested backup to assist in follow-up investigations of the detainees: ransacking their homes for evidence, rounding up their families to check out their stories, and pushing for wider arrests. Arjun’s assistants were prepared to send the reserve soldiers, but they knew to pass the orders by the chief governor first. So, they waited expectantly.
Earlier that day, Arjun had received calls from the presidents of both India and Pakistan, expressing their condolences, promising their full support in the recovery of his wife and son, but making it clear that this rescue operation was by no means a mere local matter. It now had international implications, foreign policy consequences, a diplomatic situation on the verge of combustion.
Meanwhile, Vishal and several of his lieutenants had begun a new campaign for Arjun to sign the wall-building legislation as a symbolic gesture of Kashmiri defiance of militant violence and opposition. Arjun had sat listening quietly while they made their case. Another assistant had objected about the timing.
“How will it look,” he had urged, “if he starts signing legislation while his family is missing?”
“He’ll look strong,” Vishal had pressed back. “By the time the wall is constructed, the first family will be back where they belong, but first, we have to be tough on the militants. If we back off on the proposal now, it will look like they bullied us into it. It would only encourage other militants to kidnap or bomb or make other threats in order to get what they want. We must be firm.”
Reluctant as he had been about the wall, Arjun could certainly see his point. He wanted to hurt the men who took his wife and sons from him. Hurt them badly, make them feel his pain. But with his wife and son still at the mercy of the militants, he knew he must refrain from inciting retaliation or provoking rash responses. If they further alienated the people of the north or pushed them too far, the militants might torture Parvati and Tarun, or execute them, or use them as propaganda, or who knew what else.
“No,” he said to the upturned faces. “Tell the general that he cannot have the reinforcements. No searching homes without legal warrants. No arresting innocents. Tell him he must act entirely within the constraints of the law. Tell him that’s an order.”
Arjun turned away. He chanted, silently, a c
alming mantra that Parvati had taught to him many years before. He must stay calm, focused, and alert. He must not allow himself to be diverted from the path of wisdom, the path that would lead him back to his family.
Tarun awoke to frigid air and a stark white sky. He was no longer surprised by his ability to sleep in the oddest of places: strange caves, ship holds, a rickety cart sliding up the side of a mountain. He sat up carefully and peered over the side: an icy gorge, thousands of feet deep, yawned like an abyss to the right. A steep cliff wall stretched up toward the peak of the mountain on the left. The oxen continued to pull the cart at a stolid pace, apparently unwearied by the rapid change of altitude. Remarkably, the road was smooth, paved, and rather wide. Along the edge, a low wall had been constructed of wood and stone. Every hundred yards or so, a small decorative statue of a large bighorn sheep stood upon a pedestal. Most of them had broken horns, smashed legs, scarred torsos: a legacy of the Serpentine, he guessed.
Galerest caught his eye. “We approach the city of Candeuil,” he said. “This road passed right through the heart of it, the only pass through the mountain range in this part of the country. In recent years, however, it has been abandoned. No one can pass through the ancient entrance to the city, the Gates of Raneaux, due to the powerful magic employed by the Serpentine to seal them shut.”
“How will I get in, then?” Tarun asked.
“Travelers to Candeuil followed the major road through the gates, but citizens of the city had a special entrance, a small passageway that enabled the Ovi to get in and out without the trouble of passing through the busy main entrance. You will go through this secret passageway.”
“The Serpentine never knew about it?”
“No, they did. It has been sealed as well, but we think you will be immune to its power. And while you are not strong enough to open the heavy Gates of Raneaux, you might be able to open the side door.”
The cart rumbled around the curve of the mountain and a long bluish wall of stone loomed across a wide chasm. Beyond it could be seen the motley structures of a city dramatically built upon the face of a rising mountain. Even from this distance, Tarun could see that the once-magnificent city now lay in a state of disrepair and neglect. Caved-in roofs, toppled towers, snow-buried homes were visible above the line of the outer wall.