“Why?” I don’t attempt to soften my tone. “Why now?”
Her hand drops from my cheek. “You have every right to be angry with me. I abandoned you, didn’t I? Or it certainly seems like it. But what you don’t know, my son, is that I did stay for a while. After giving birth to you, my body died. But my soul didn’t. It still languished, longing to brush your face with a hand, to see you happy and safe. So I came back. Weekly at first and then daily when I realized you could see me. You always smiled when I appeared, did you know?”
The sadness in her voice tempers my rage. I will myself to remain silent.
“Your father saw you trying to talk to me when you were very small. You must have been about two years old. Ma, you kept saying over and over again. And then he knew. He understood what I’d become. He urged me to leave. To not show myself to you. ‘What will I tell him when he starts asking more questions?’ your papa demanded. ‘When he asks how he can see living specters, but I cannot?’
“Now, wait,” she interrupts before I can express my outrage. “Before you judge your father, think carefully. His hold on you was precarious. If the government discovered that you weren’t his son—or that you were a seer—it would have done its best to make him give you up. Seers are that rare and valuable. To the world, you had to appear non-magus. You needed to be Xerxes’s son. I agreed with him. Three years went by. My longing to see you increased. When you were five, I came to see you again. You’d grown so much. I wanted to touch you so badly, I reached out, forgetting that I wasn’t supposed to. That you could see me.
“You were amazed, of course, and shocked. You went and told your father that you saw me, even brought him to the place where I revealed myself to you. The moment I saw Xerxes’s face, I knew what a mistake I’d made. It took everything in me not to reveal myself to you then—to stay away.”
My head spins, unable to process the enormity of what I’m hearing. “But you didn’t come even when I found out the truth about my blood. When I called for you at the temple in the tenements. Why did you stay away then?”
“I thought you’d see me differently,” she admits. “You were so angry, Cavas. I was afraid you wouldn’t love me anymore.”
“You are my mother. I can’t not love you!” I force myself to breathe deeply. “I was angry with Papa. He was wrong to keep you away from me.”
“He didn’t keep me away. I chose to keep myself hidden. To make sure you were safe. Cavas!” she cries out when I slowly rise to my feet. “Cavas, you’ll hurt your leg!”
“It doesn’t hurt as much as what you’ve already told me,” I say bitterly. Grief presses down, crushing the breath out of me. “Everything hurts.”
“I know, my son,” my mother says. Her cool arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me close. Angry as I am, I can’t bear to pull away.
“Ma,” I say after a pause. “Who was he? My … the man who…” My voice trails off. I’m unable to use the phrase my real father or even the man who sired me.
But my mother understands.
I sense it from her tightening fingers, from the growing coldness of her embrace. I’m not entirely surprised when I open my eyes a moment later and find that she’s gone, and that I’m alone once more in a darkened room.
40
GUL
They won’t let me leave my room except to use the toilet. And even there, I’m accompanied by someone—usually Kali or the woman named Esther, her starry face so striking that it makes me speechless the first time I see it. I try to step out on my own—to see where I am, to find Cavas, who Esther said was in a room a few doors away from mine—but my head spins so much that I fall to the floor.
“If you move again, I’ll shackle you,” Kali threatens. “Neither of you are ready to step out of your rooms. It’s a miracle you both woke up after inhaling all that dust.”
“Cavash.” My voice slurs. “Hish leg … Is it…?”
“Esther says it’s healing well.” She hesitates, as if wanting to say something else, but then simply says, “Sami will bring in your lunch for you.”
I grab her wrist. “Kali, w-wait—what about Juhi … Am-mira?”
“Imprisoned, from what we know, but still alive.” Kali forces a smile. “You know how stubborn they both are. They’re probably giving their interrogators hell.”
My empty stomach turns over. I’m not fooled by Kali’s bravado. “H-how … Who t-told you—”
“You’ll find out everything soon,” Kali says, gently withdrawing from my grip. Her face looks like it has aged several years. “Rest now, my girl, or Esther will have my head.”
I call out Kali’s name again, but my voice echoes in the empty room. I fall back against pillows that are nearly as soft as those in Rani Mahal. They make me forget where I am, my body shocked into a state of semiwakefulness that is nearly as awful as sleep. Now that I’m awake, all I can do is relive what happened at the palace. Shayla killing my attendant and King Lohar. Cavas’s father dying. Juhi fighting with Alizeh, giving us time to run. Amira’s scream of pain.
A soft knock on the door makes me look up. A tall, muscular girl of perhaps Amira and Kali’s age stands at the threshold, a plate of food in her hands. Her fine black curls are held back in a bun, her bronze skin tattooed exactly like Esther’s, with silver-and-black stars over the forehead. She’s dressed like the older woman as well—in a short blue tunic and billowing trousers that cinch at the ankles.
“You’re awake,” she says, and I’m surprised by how soft her voice is. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited—how long we’ve all waited—for you.”
“What d-do you mean?”
She walks into the room slowly, holds up the plate like an offering. “You’re the One. The girl the prophecy foretold.”
I want to deny this. To tell her that I’m no Star Warrior and that I didn’t even kill the king. But something about her expression gives me pause. It has been so long since someone has looked at me without any calculation or dislike. I take the plate from her hands. Warm, fragrant roti. Small bowls of cool yogurt and steaming black lentils. A whole pink onion, the outer shell removed.
“I know it isn’t much,” she says, sounding embarrassed. “Not like what you’re probably used to—”
“It’s m-more than what I’m used t-to,” I say slowly, carefully enunciating each word. And I’m not just talking about the food. I rip into the roti and shovel a morsel of the lentils into my mouth. Without even thinking about it, I take a bite out of the onion and then grimace at the sweet and pungent taste. My disgust makes the girl laugh. I find myself smiling back.
“I’m Sami,” she says.
“I’m Gul.”
She grins again, and I realize she probably already knows who I am. “He’s handsome. Your neela chand.”
Neela chand. The Vani phrase for blue moon. Or mate. I begin sputtering. “C-cavas? He’s not m-my neela—he’s not my mate.”
In fact, I’m pretty sure he regrets that I’m still alive. From the startled look on Sami’s face, I realize I’ve spoken that thought out loud.
“Sami!” a voice calls from outside the room. Esther. “Where are you?”
“Coming, Esther Didi!” Sami looks guilty, as if she has been caught doing something she shouldn’t be. She clasps my left wrist and gives it a squeeze. “I don’t know much about love and things like that. They brought me here shortly after I was born. But he called for you when he was asleep. When I told Esther Didi you had woken from your dust dream, he tried to follow her outside.”
She leaves me there, staring into space, with a hope that I have no right to feel blooming in my chest.
* * *
It takes three more days before the grogginess subsides and Esther declares I’m fit to leave the room.
Sami holds out her hand to help, but I shake my head. I don’t want to appear weaker than I already am.
“Burdens lessen when shared, Gul ji,” Sami says softly.
“I wish you’d call me Gul,
” I tell her. I don’t deserve any honorific after my name. In fact, Sami’s words remind me so much of Cavas, it’s painful. My heart races with the knowledge that I will see him today. Esther said she wants to speak to both of us first in the courtyard outside.
Though my room has windows, there’s a vast difference between looking out at the courtyard from here and stepping into the open and feeling the ground under my sandaled feet. A pair of girls dressed in blue tunics and trousers pass us by. Their foreheads are tattooed like Sami’s, and they gape when they see me dressed exactly the way they are, except with a bare face.
“Move on!” Sami’s voice, so soft while speaking to me, sharpens while addressing them. “Get to training!”
After the girls leave, I turn to Sami again and finally ask the question I’d been too hesitant to over the past three days. “Sami, your tattoos. What do they mean?”
Sami smiles with a touch of pride. “The tattoos mean we are the Legion of the Star Warrior. It was Esther Didi’s idea. We’ve been training for the past twenty years. Well, I’ve only been training for fourteen. We all knew you would come someday.”
“The Legion of the Star Warrior?” The words make me feel queasy. Does she mean what I think she means? “Are you an army?”
“Yes,” Sami says patiently. “But we’re not just any army. We’re your army. Ready to fight at your command.”
Overhead, I hear voices rising and falling in a chant: The sky has fallen! A star will rise! The familiar clack of sticks rattles the air, making my skin break out in goose bumps.
I wonder what Sami will say if I tell her that I didn’t kill the king. Or that the king’s death has only unleashed the sort of chaos I didn’t even imagine. But before I can open my mouth and reveal any of this, a pair of figures emerges from the building behind us. Kali, followed by Cavas, who walks with a slight limp. My eyes take in everything: the dark-red angrakha that fits him like a glove, the loose white trousers, his head bare of its usual orange turban, silky black locks falling over his forehead. My hands itch to push them aside. The scar on his face has healed well; in a few days, barely a trace will remain.
Cavas is studying me in a similar fashion. A faint flush rises up his neck, over his jaw, which holds traces of a patchy beard. There are purple shadows under his brown eyes—as if he’s been sleeping as badly as I have.
“You look well,” he says, and I wonder if there’s a trace of bitterness there, mingled with the obvious relief in his voice.
“I, uh, need to check on Esther and see where she is,” Sami says before rushing off somewhere. Kali murmurs something in response. Cavas’s eyes widen, and a moment later, I realize why: I’ve moved several steps forward, hands reaching out for him. I drop them, blushing.
“You … you’re all right? Your leg…” I curse myself for my own inept mutterings.
His lips, I realize, appear a lot fuller when he smiles. “I’ve been better.” He blinks as if remembering something, and his expression shutters.
“Cavas, I’m sorry for—”
“Don’t.” His breath rushes out as if he’s been holding it in. “I can’t. Not now.”
I nod. I can’t expect him to forgive me for what happened at the palace. Not in this moment. Perhaps never.
“Do you know why Esther wants to see us?” I force myself to change the subject.
“I think she wants us to meet someone. Though I’m not sure who. I’ve asked,” he adds, when he sees me raise an eyebrow.
A gust of air curls around us, bringing tears to my eyes. For a moment, I think it’s the dust again, but Cavas suddenly moves forward and pulls me away from the wind with a frown. “That was a—”
“Living specter,” I finish. I can feel its presence now, hear the malevolent cackle. A girl.
“They’re all over this place,” Cavas says quietly. “Some are women. Some are little girls like Indu. They probably died while their magic was being drained out of them.”
My stomach turns over. Indu was simply another girl who had been taken from her family, who had been tortured until she became a specter. “All these specters … they’re from Tavan?”
“Most, but not all. Latif didn’t die here.” Cavas pauses for a moment. “And I officially met my mother. She’s a living specter as well.”
The words take a moment to register. “By the goddess! Cavas, you must be…” My voice trails off when I see his expression. Uh-oh. “Did your meeting not go well?”
He lets forth a bitter laugh. “To say the least.”
I’m deliberating on how to respond to this when the sound of footsteps makes me turn. Esther has emerged from the building. “Oh good. Everyone’s here now. Well, almost everyone.”
I look around her but see no one else. “Who is it that we’re supposed to be meeting? Where are they?”
“It’s only one person,” Esther says, hesitating slightly. “I would have brought him here, but Kali believes I should prepare you first, give you both a bit of background.”
I glance at Kali apprehensively, but she simply shakes her head. Listen, her eyes tell me.
“In a few minutes, you’ll be meeting with our savior,” Esther says. “The Pashu king, Subodh.”
Cavas is frowning—as puzzled as I am. I wonder for a moment if it’s a joke. But from the grim expressions on Kali’s and Esther’s faces, I can tell it isn’t. “But Raja Subodh’s dead. He’s supposed to have died during the Battle of the Desert. There are portraits of Sky Warriors parading his head around the city of Ambarvadi!”
“That was an ordinary lion’s head,” Esther says quietly. “Lohar wanted people to think he killed the Pashu king, but he really hadn’t, not even with a giant atashban that took ten Sky Warriors to power it. When the Pashu armies perished or retreated, Subodh was one of the few left fighting. But he was also injured. Badly. Lohar managed to shoot a spell chaining him to Tavan. But Lohar hadn’t anticipated what Subodh had done before. Subodh and the Pashu had killed the guards at the labor camp and freed the rest of us girls.”
Her voice rises, gaining strength. “We rose as one to fight—the living and the dead. The living fought off the Sky Warriors. The dead—well, most of them were living specters, really—turned us and the whole city invisible. When Subodh woke, he helped the specters reinforce the city’s invisibility by raising a magical gate. As long as the specters remain on guard, the gate cannot be breached. It’s why, whenever the Sky Warriors returned, they couldn’t find us, their spells shooting into nothingness.”
“Why is Subodh still here, though?” Cavas asks. “Why didn’t he break his chains and leave?”
“Lohar’s magic was too strong. The chains burned whenever Subodh tried to break them. Nearly killed him at one time. It’s only now that the king has died, they’ve been broken and—”
“—I’ve finally been freed.”
His voice reminds me of rainfall, of thunder rumbling in the sky.
Even being told of his existence beforehand doesn’t prepare me for the sight of the rajsingha standing behind us: nearly twice as tall as a tall man, his torso and legs the only parts of him that resemble a human, though these, too, are covered in a coat of tan fur. A thick mane surrounds a heavily scarred face, some wounds healed, some fresh, right around the whiskers. His eyes are like liquid suns, glowing even from this distance. I have the oddest feeling he can look right into me, can read my mind without a touch. I’m not sure I like it.
It seems both strange and perfectly natural for him to slink into a crouch and walk to us on all fours, reptilian tail swaying behind him—though I’m certain he could, if he wished, walk to us the way a human would. Or someone who is both lion and human. King Subodh of the Pashu. Neither Cavas nor I move as he pauses before us and scans our faces.
“Welcome,” Subodh says in perfect Vani. “We’ve been waiting for you, Star Warrior. And you, Seer.”
I’m no Star Warrior, I want to tell him. I don’t deserve your hopes. Or your dreams.
Bite
your tongue, girl. A chill goes through me. It’s Subodh’s voice in my head. Whispering to me. Don’t speak your mind. Not yet. Though Juhi had told me that it was the Pashu who taught humans whispering in the first place, it’s still shocking to hear Subodh’s voice, to realize that his magic was so swift, so smooth that I didn’t even feel him attempting to create a bond with me.
“Come with me,” Subodh says out loud to the four of us. “The birds will bring news, I hope. Nearly two weeks have passed.”
“Yes, Raja Subodh.” Esther bows.
Subodh lightly brushes his forehead against hers. “Bless you, little sister. But I am not a king anymore.”
He leads us out of the courtyard and down a road paved with cobblestones that glitter whenever the sun falls on them. Small, mud-brick houses rise on both sides, their roofs flat instead of thatched with hay. Beyond that, a city—or the ruins of what once must have been one—dust lining broken pillars of stone and marble, gilded rags fluttering from the flagpoles of abandoned temples.
“Tavan used to be beautiful a long time ago,” Subodh says. “Autonomous in many ways and self-sufficient. A city made for the desert. Its people were brave enough to rebel against Lohar’s ascent to the throne. Lohar crushed the rebellion brutally, executed the Tavani governor, and turned the city into a labor camp.” He gestures to the walls of the houses, some of which are marked with red atashbans. “We can’t get the marks out. No matter what we do.”
Two girls are drying dates on one side, a sheet of brown pebbles on a blanket on the ground. When Subodh passes by, they call out greetings, which he returns. I feel them watching me as well; unlike Esther, they’re frowning, as if they can’t quite believe my presence.
Intruder, their body language suggests. Impostor.
“How many people live here?” Cavas asks. He’s looking at the girls as well.
“Of those who have survived these twenty years in the desert, about fifty. There used to be thrice as many before,” Subodh says. “There were about fourteen labor camps when I was imprisoned. I don’t know how many are left now.”
Hunted by the Sky Page 33