Game of Stars

by Sayantani DasGupta

  “D’ya hear? The boss is coming!” I heard a serpent in a housekeeping uniform tell the skondokata as I passed by.

  Oh no. That must mean that Sesha and Naga had made it past the pakkhiraj and two demonesses. Plus, I realized as I looked into a big gilded mirror, the snake disguise of Ai-Ma’s spell was wearing off. I was still looking green-tinged, but not really scaly or that snaky anymore. I had to hurry.

  I shuffled quickly along on the maybe-moving floor toward the elevators, trying not to be too noticeable. Each door had that symbol, the snake eating itself, and that darned saying The all is one. I pushed the down button. As soon as I did, I shuddered and pulled back my hand, trying to shake off the feeling that the button had kind of throbbed under my finger. I was so creeped out, I practically dived toward the first elevator that opened and jammed my finger into the D for dungeon button. This button didn’t seem to have a heartbeat, thank goodness. I was so relieved by this that it wasn’t until I’d stepped all the way in and the doors were closing that I had the strange sensation that I wasn’t in an elevator at all, but had entered the mouth of some kind of living creature, complete with rubbery lips and teeth! The elevator doors stayed open for a nerve-shattering moment, and then slammed shut, plunging me into total, moist, mouthy darkness before the entire car plummeted swiftly downward.

  “Waaaaaa!” I screamed, not able to control myself, slamming into the soft floor as the elevator crashed downward, landing with a teeth-jarring thunk. When the doors opened again on the dungeon floor, I jumped out as quickly as I could. I could swear the elevator gave a little burp as it closed up again and sped away.

  I shivered, rubbing my hands, trying to get rid of the oogly feeling of having been in the hotel’s mouth. I looked around cautiously at my surroundings, an arrow nocked in my bow. I was in a place opposite to the fancy, crowded lobby. It was a plain, totally empty, steel-lined hallway. Luckily, I didn’t see Bogli or any other guards around. I knew I didn’t have much time, so I ran farther and farther into the belly of the dungeons. I came to a few turns along the way, and let my instinct guide me—right, left, and right again. I prayed I was going in the right direction.

  At the far end of the final hallway I turned down were two heavy steel doors. And in front of the doors? Oh, just great.

  Witches.

  They were two horrible-looking daini: long toothed and knobbly kneed, spindly necked and fiery eyed. The women’s bony forms were draped in dirty white saris. And behind them—up and down the length and breadth of the stainless-steel wall—were cameras. Cameras without operators, but trained right on me. I blinked in surprise as a dozen bright lights came on at the same time, dazzling my eyes. And then I heard it, the sound of the magic harmonium again, singing again that this was my second test.

  “This is my second test? But … but … it can’t be … I failed my second test. I was supposed to fight two rakkhoshis and I refused …” I sputtered. I couldn’t think of any reason to lie anymore. I hadn’t played by the game’s rules. Which meant it was supposed to be over. How had the producers even known I was coming here?

  The two daini grinned creepily at me. I expected them to speak in soul-rattling tones, but when they flapped open their rubbery lips, one started humming some cheesy game show music and the other started speaking in a silly, overly loud announcer-type voice.

  “Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! To the multiverse’s most popular game show, Who Wants to Be a Demon Slayer?” It was almost like they hadn’t even heard me.

  “Oh, look, studio audience, here comes our contestant,” said the second witch.

  I looked around in alarm, but except for the cameras, there was no studio audience—that I could see, anyway. I bit my lip. I had no choice but to play along and hopefully pass the test fast. I had to get to Neel before Sesha, his minions, and the Raja’s soldiers got here.

  “Let’s learn a little bit more about our contestant, shall we? What’s your name, dearie?”

  “Uh, Kiranmala,” I said into the microphone the crone pulled out from somewhere in the folds of her sari.

  “That’s an interesting name, Uhkiranmala. Tell us what you like to do for a hobby! Chew on the entrails of souls? Entrap innocents inside tree trunks? Crochet macramé leg warmers?”

  “I like to, uh—” I began.

  “No one wants to listen to your boring hobbies, human!” the second daini cut me off. “Let’s hear a word now from our sponsors!”

  “1-800-Samosa Drones!” she sang out, like it was a little company jingle. “Just call us on the phone, and we’ll drop one into your mouth by drone!”

  “Hot, delicious!” said the first witch, her tongue kind of lolling and dribbling drool. “And so convenient!”

  The first witch picked up the questioning. “So, Uhkiranmala, how does it feel to be on a game show created by your own biological father, the Serpent King? Terrifying? Unnerving? Like someone is eating at the last, dirty bits of hope you had caked to the bottom of your emotional frying pan?”

  “If you knew who I was all along, why did you ask?” I said in frustration, peering over my shoulder down the still-empty hallway. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d like to get to the bee box as soon as possible!”

  “Well, dear contestant, the prize you seek is behind one of these two locked doors!” As the second daini said this, the first daini hummed some other game show music under her breath—lots of trombone noises and gong sounds. “The rules of this second test are simple—let’s review them for first-time viewers of our show, shall we?”

  The sisters took turns explaining the rules. “After the buzzer goes off, one of us sisters can only answer your question with the truth, and the other can only answer with a lie.”

  “It’s a part of our supernatural contract with the station higher-ups.”

  “And behind one of these two doors behind us is …” The daini made a dramatic drumming noise with her floppy lips.

  “The crystal box containing the soul bee you seek!” said the other sister, and they both did a fake rahhhhhhhh cheer noise, like the studio audience was going nuts.

  “But what’s behind the other door?” I asked.

  “Behind door number two is the prisoner Prince Neelkamal!” More rahhhhhhing.

  I felt my spirits lift. Wow, both things I sought—Neel and the soul bee whose wing was the key to freeing him were each within my reach. I tried not to get too distracted by the fact that Neel was so nearby. Could he hear us? Could I somehow send him a signal?

  “But here’s the catch, dear contestant!” As she said this, the witch’s eyes kind of goggled in her bony skull.

  Dang. I knew there was a catch. There was always a catch.

  “What is it?”

  “We will tell you shortly, but first, another very important word from our sponsors!”

  “Not another one,” I moaned.

  “No show can go on without corporate sponsorship,” scolded the witch.

  The other daini pulled out a makeup box from her sari. On the cover was a really gross “before” and “after” shot of a beautiful woman smiling at the camera, and then her rotting corpse being picked over by vultures.

  “Dead and Lovely!” she said in a mellow, fake-doctor sort of voice. “The fairness cream so good that it will fool even vultures into thinking you’re so pale because you’re actually dead!”

  “Ewwww …” I protested. “Why would anyone want to make their dark skin lighter, or look like they were dead?”

  But the witch shushed me with a terrifying glare. “Dead and Lovely—the preferred skin-whitening cream of ex–cricket captain and heartthrob anchorman Suman Rahaman. Dead and Lovely—when fair skin simply isn’t enough!”

  “We now return to our regularly scheduled program,” said the other witch, as if the disgusting commercial hadn’t happened at all.

  “What’s the catch with the doors?” I asked, trying to hurry the supernatural sisters along.

  “Okay, so, if you don’t cho
ose the door containing the soul bee first, you can’t unlock the prisoner’s door.”

  “And also …” added her companion, “if you choose the prisoner’s door first, then my sister and I get to eat your and the prisoner’s livers for a snack!”

  “While they’re still in your bodies!” Both daini chomped their dangly teeth in anticipation.

  “But don’t be sad, even if you lose, there’s still plenty of nice departing gifts we have for you,” said the first witch, while the second pulled out a bunch of nonsensical items from her supernatural sari.

  “Two resealable bags full of cockroaches!”

  “A cup of curdled chocolate milk! Plus, a curly straw!” added the first.

  “A gift certificate to the Dead and Lovely beauty salon! Get one of their famous exfoliating facials—peels your skin clean away down to the bone!”

  Needless to say, none of those items made it worth having my and Neel’s livers eaten up while we were still alive.

  “So, how do I know which door is the right one?” I asked.

  “We’re not unfair, oh, dear contestant.”

  “We will allow you one question that you may ask either of us!”

  “Either of us!”

  “And it doesn’t even have to be a yes-or-no question!”

  The sisters bounced this way and that up the wall of the hallway and onto the burbling and moving ceiling. They hung upside down up there, their feet planted into the ceiling like it was nothing more than sand, before each scampered back down the opposite wall to take her sister’s place in front of the other door. Then I heard a buzzer go off. The contest was on.

  I rubbed my neck, my fingers tracing the crescent-shaped scar there. I wished I could call on my moon mother for help, but she was unreachable, high and bright in the sky. I had to do this alone. I heard the cameras zooming in and knew there were hundreds, if not thousands, of intergalactic viewers, watching for my every reaction.

  Think, Kiranmala, think. I tried Buddhu’s breathing technique again. Okay, no matter what I asked, I had no way of knowing which witch I was speaking to, the truth-teller or the liar. And so, no matter what they answered, I had no way of knowing if they were speaking the truth or a lie.

  “Bing-bing-bing-bing, bing-bing-bing, bing-bing-bing-bong, bing-bong-bong-bing-bong-bong,” ticktocked the sisters cheerfully.

  “Stop! You’re making me nervous!” I desperately ran through scenarios in my head. If I asked the truth-teller daini which was the door to Neel, she would tell me the truth. But if it ended up being the lie-teller, she would tell me the other door. If I asked the lie-teller daini which was the door to the bee, she would tell me the door to Neel, and if I asked the truth teller, she would tell me the actual door.

  “We’re going to need an answer, dear contestant!” said witch number one, licking her slobbery lips a little too conspicuously for my taste. “Or would you like to forfeit?”

  “That’s not very sporting of you, is it, sister?” argued witch number two. “I like a bit of a challenge before I enjoy my liver tartar.” Then, with a wink at me, she added, “Or maybe I’m lying.”

  “Or maybe my sister’s not lying. Or maybe I’m lying about my sister not lying,” said the first witch. Both sisters burst out in a fit of grotesque giggles at this.

  But their wordplay gave me an idea. “Wait a minute, I think I have my question.”

  “Aw, shoot, do you really?” whined the first sister.

  “Yes, I do.”

  My heart was beating faster. Did I actually have the answer? I had to think it through. If I asked either daini what her sister would say if I asked her which was the door with the bee box, I might actually get the answer I needed. The truth teller would truthfully tell me that her sister would point to Neel’s door. And the liar would obviously tell me that her sister would point to Neel’s door too. So, no matter which witch I asked this question to, I would have to take the door they didn’t point to.

  I turned to one of them. “This is my question: What would your sister say if I asked her where the bee was?”

  Both witches stared at me, their gums flapping, their radish-teeth waggling, their wiggly necks woggling in disappointment. “We’ll give you a second chance, girlie—that doesn’t have to be your question.”

  “No, thanks, I’m happy for that to be my question,” I said, asking it again.

  Rolling their eyes and gnashing their teeth, cracking their knuckles and flapping their feet, the sisters showed me the wrong door.

  And I chose the opposite one.

  I knew I’d chosen the right door when I stepped into a room made of glass. As we were deep under the sea, this meant the room was like an inside-out aquarium. There was seaweed and coral below me, schools of fish of all colors floating by above. The space was brightly lit, and my breath caught in my throat as I saw what was in the center of the room. On a crystal stand, on a broad crystal platform, sat a beautiful little crystal box. It looked as clear and shimmery as a piece of ice, or a diamond. And in the crystal box was the soul bee, letting off a golden glow that lit up the whole space. As I walked toward it, it started buzzing, like it knew what I was there to do.

  I’d never really thought before about the fact that I’d have to hurt the bee—rip off its wing—to free Neel. I remembered how the policeman at the registration center had torn off the bee’s wing, and how the poor insect had wailed in pain. I hesitated, but only for a second. Because suddenly, the fish-filled ocean on the other side of the glass wall was filled with action. Entire schools darted around in agitation like there were predators coming. I had to hurry.

  I grabbed the crystal box from the stand and ran back out of the room to where the witchy sisters still lounged in the wide hallway, crying over the loss of my liver.

  “Our test center’s just been canceled thanks to you!” the first witch moaned.

  “We lost all of our corporate sponsors!” said the second.

  But I didn’t have time to deal with two witches whining about losing their corporate sponsorship from a samosa Drone company. I had to get my rescue on, and quick. I knelt at Neel’s cell.

  There was a slot in the locked door, like the kind that might be used to slip a meal tray into the room. I hadn’t seen it before and wondered if the daini guards had somehow made it invisible to me during the game show contest. Now I put my eye to it, and saw him. I couldn’t believe it—there he was! Not separated from me by Essence-Tyme, but a solid, heavy door. Unlike last time I’d seen him, though, Neel was just lying there. It wasn’t right. Neel of all people was always active—riding Raat, fighting our enemies, giving me a hard time. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Neel so still: not cracking jokes, or being sarcastic, or raising his eyebrow all handsome-like. This wasn’t right at all. I felt goose bumps rise on my arms as the fear rose in my heart.

  “Neel!” I shouted. “Neel!”

  And pop, just like that, he rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Kiran? Is that you?” He awkwardly shuffled over to the door with his arm and leg chains clanking. “What are you doing here?” He reached his fingers through the door slot.

  “I’m here to rescue you!” I said breathlessly. “There’s not a lot of time!” I let myself grab his fingers and hold on. It felt wonderful. His fingers were dry, and dirty, but it was him. It was Neel. And I was holding his hand.

  “I told you not to rescue me!” Neel said then, pushing my hand away. “Go away! Go home!” He waved in a shooing gesture, like I was some annoying fly, a bee buzzing at him through the door slot rather than his rescuer, his chance at freedom.

  I had made it through so much to save him—demons, ghosts, witches, riddles, passwords, intergalactic wormhole driving. I’d disobeyed my parents, stolen the Serpent King’s tooth, fought with my cousin, and escaped angry soldiers. And Mr. Princie-Pants had the gall to actually be annoyed by my coming here! Oh, this was rich.

  “Listen up, dude,” I began hotly, but then my attention was captured by a terrible noise. Som
ewhere down the long corridor, someone was coming. Oh, man, my time was up.

  “Neel, I don’t have time to argue about this.” I grabbed the serpent’s tooth from my backpack, being careful to protect my hand with my old gym T-shirt. With one bold stroke, I cracked the crystal box. I grabbed the glowing bee inside by the wing, trying not to freak out as it wiggled under my grip. It took all my self-control not to shriek, drop the buzzing bee, and run away. “I’m getting you out of there!”

  But as I put my fingers on the bee’s wing, preparing to rip it off, Neel practically screamed himself. “Stop! That’s my mother’s soul!”

  I paused, my fingers hovering in midair above the buzzing insect. “What did you say? Your mother’s what?”

  And then, in a smelly, sulfuric cloud of smoke, who should arrive before me but the Rakkhoshi Queen herself—not hazy like through Essence-Tyme, but real and in the flesh. Her golden sari hugged her curvy form, and her hair and ears dripped with jewels. Hanging from a golden belt around her waist was also something else—Neel’s sword.

  “Well, speak of the …” I mumbled to myself, wondering how the Queen had gotten ahold of her son’s weapon.

  “Ack! What a reflux headache! My head is cutting circles!” The Rakkhoshi Queen belched and rubbed at her temples. “What took you so long, Moon Is Made of Green Cheese?”

  “Mother!” Neel yelled from inside the locked doorway. “She’s about to kill your soul bee! Don’t let her!”

  “Don’t let her? What are you talking about, my imbecilic offspring? Why do you think I’ve been visiting your little lunar lady friend here for these past weeks? It wasn’t to partake of Parsippany’s great foodie scene. Although, those baklava at that Greek diner were excellent, I must say.” The rakkhoshi seemed to remember then why she was there, snarling and pointing the sword in my direction. “Do it, Green Lanterna! Get my son out of that detention cell!”

  But still, I hesitated. Why, I don’t know. Probably a part of my new realization that heroes and monsters weren’t always that easy to tell apart. I wanted to save Neel, but now that I knew the cost of it—killing, or at the very least, injuring his mother—I couldn’t bring myself to hurt the bee.