by Soyna Owley
‘Here Raja! At once!’ The voice belonged to a Ressuldar girl with bright green dreadlocks. She chased the dog and came to a screeching halt, narrowly avoiding crashing into Floyd. The canine looked at her unrepentantly, tongue hanging sideways, but stopped and hovered over her.
‘Your dog isn’t listening to you,’ she said in a shrill voice, turning to Floyd.
‘But I—’ Floyd stammered. He tried not to stare at the peridot green eyes flashing at him—they were framed by the longest, curliest eyelashes he had ever seen and were perfectly placed over a pert nose. Her skin was the colour of a freshly brewed cup of Darjeeling tea. Her black hair, braided into what seemed like thousands of dreadlocks that reached her knees, shimmered with silver threads weaving through them, blooming small wildflowers that dropped off, leaving a colourful trail behind her. She was easily as tall as him and very slender. She wore a long, green mossy shirt with bell sleeves, black tights and knee-length lace-up black boots with metal reinforced toes.
Managing to grab her dog’s collar, the girl lowered him to the ground. She had several thread and leather bracelets on her wrists, and as her sleeve fell down, he saw a green tattoo of a rose on her left forearm. A tattoo? She didn’t look like she was more than thirteen or fourteen years old.
‘How many times do I have to tell you, Raja? Stay close to my head.’ She then grabbed Chutney’s collar and brought him down as well, tail wagging. He sat down, panting.
To Floyd’s surprise, Balsam gathered the girl in a big hug.
‘Uncle Balsam! I didn’t see you. I’ve missed you so,’ she shrieked, as she kissed his cheeks. ‘How’s Mum?’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Thank god you’re here. Dad is so strict. He doesn’t let me go anywhere on my own.’
She looked at Floyd. ‘Is this—’ she put her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening.
‘Yaksha, this is my irrepressible niece, Kusmati.’
‘I prefer Koos,’ she said. Her irises were green, flecked with gold. Floyd blushed as she stared back. She was okay-looking—if you liked dreadlocks and turned up noses.
‘So you’re the famous Yaksha? Here to rescue us all, eh?’ she said softly, as she unknotted the rope of an anchored blue rowboat.
Floyd glared at her but didn’t reply. What a smarty-pants. Who did she think she was? As if he had asked for this job!
They climbed in and Balsam held out his hand to Kusmati, but she ignored it and hopped easily into the boat, smiling. Chutney and Raja glided above as Balsam dipped the oars in the water, his arms moving evenly. Floyd caught Kusmati looking at him but she quickly turned away.
‘Look, we’re going in through the side of the ship,’ Kusmati said. ‘It’s wicked!’
A door slid open on the port side of the Charpoy to form a wide, yawning hole. They glided into the belly of the ship, into fishy-smelling darkness, chillier even than the air outside.
How did things operate in this world? Floyd wondered as Kusmati threw a heavy rope around the mooring post of a bobbing platform. They climbed on to it. She pulled at a long rope that disappeared into the darkness above; a bell tinkled, they heard a shout and then shot upwards through the darkness at a dizzying speed. They landed with a thump on a shiny wooden deck dotted with round tables and curly iron chairs. The fresh evening air smelled of roasting pineapple, and wisps of steam from the ship swirled around them.
Floyd saw a flash of lime-green feathers from the corner of his eye.
‘Welcome aboard the Merman’s Charpoy,’ Balsam said. A green parrot fluttered to his shoulder. ‘Hullo, Piffle.’
Floyd shuddered. Birds weren’t his cup of tea lately.
Chutney barked and wagged his tail as three other Ridgebacks trotted up to him and gave him a smell-over.
A bearded Ressuldar hobbled towards them, his moss cape swaying. His green dreadlocks were knotted with emerald velvet ribbons and plaited into two pigtails that descended to his waist. Several thin silver hoops pierced his ears and his face was as wrinkled as the bark of a pipal tree.
‘Kiddahh!’ he greeted them. In one hand he held a silver cane, its handle shaped like the head of a Rhodesian Ridgeback. ‘Kusmati, did you row out to the harbour by yourself? I must have dreamed the whole last conversation we had where you promised never to do that.’
Kusmati flushed a bright green and her eyes flashed mutinously as she walked away. Floyd grinned. She didn’t like being told off, this one.
‘Kiddahh!’ Balsam enveloped the other Ressuldar in a firm hug. ‘How are you, Naveen?’
Naveen’s green eyes held Floyd’s for a moment. ‘Ah, no question it is he,’ he said, in a voice like soft rain falling on a log.
Floyd smiled. This Ressuldar exuded calm.
Kusmati reappeared with a tray holding three steaming flagons.
‘Hibiscus wine. Isn’t it fine?’ she said and grinned at him, the ends of her dreadlocks sprouting cheerful periwinkles. By gum! Floyd grinned back and raised his glass to her. He took a sip and coughed. The fiery liquid scorched his throat. Kusmati smirked. Floyd grimaced at her and pretended to take another sip.
Naveen handed a flagon to Balsam, who raised it to his lips and drained the mug. ‘Just the two of you then?’
‘She’s not ready,’ Balsam said, and placed a hand on Naveen’s shoulder. The other Ressuldar grimaced and nodded.
Naveen gestured for them to follow him. He brandished his cane with vigour despite his slow, hobbling movements.
They passed a Ressuldar woman, walking hurriedly in the opposite direction. She was at least eight feet tall, her smooth, emerald skin tight over boxy cheekbones. A thick green vine with several sucker-like protrusions peeked out of her white coat pocket. Her deep orange eyes swept over Floyd like a beam of light and then settled on Balsam.
‘Balsam, I see your trunk rings are a little thicker in the middle. When did we last check your sugar sap levels? You need sunlight too. Looking pale.’
‘Well, um …’ Balsam flushed a deep green, looking not much older than Kusmati at that moment.
‘As I thought. I’ll see you in an hour.’ The orange-eyed Ressuldar woman looked steadily at him.
Balsam nodded and looked as if he was going to pass out.
‘Yaksha, this is Agnita, our medical officer,’ Naveen said.
The statuesque Ressuldar bowed deeply, the tiny jade stones on her necklace tinkling. She swept away, leaving behind a faint smell of green tea.
Balsam shuddered. ‘She’s a piranha, a vampire, sucking my sap out for her useless tests.’
‘Don’t be such a wilting lily, Balsam,’ Naveen said with a smile and walked down the stairs. Balsam looked affronted but didn’t reply.
‘She has really cool things in her chambers. I’ll show you later,’ Kusmati whispered to Floyd and winked.
They followed Naveen, his cane parting the stream of people on the stairs. Curious glances met them as they wound down the spiral staircase, and the word ‘Yaksha’ was whispered several times.
‘Kusmati, show the Yaksha to his cabin,’ Naveen said and left with Balsam.
Floyd and Kusmati stepped on to the gleaming copper floor of the tiny cabin, the lights of Port Currumshaw twinkling through the two portholes. Chutney immediately bounded on to the small bed. The creamy wallpaper had pictures of Ridgebacks in various stages of flight.
There was a small jerk and the filigreed lantern on the ceiling swayed. They were moving.
‘Look,’ Kusmati pointed. Floyd’s eyes widened. The top of the room was not just a ceiling. Images in red and purple on a parchment-like ivory background showed a charted journey from their present location. The map of Durjipore was exactly like the one in his geography book—thimble-shaped—but that’s where the resemblance ended. A huge mountain rose out of the water to its southwest, its peak so white it looked like silver. Chandi Mountain. His heart felt a pinch of dread. A sun, with a round face and thick lips, puffed its cheeks and a draft whistled through the room as it blew. The map read: Fair wi
nds, clear skies. A likeness of the Charpoy bobbed at Port Currumshaw. Their journey was charted out in a purple line—they would be going upstream along the river Mantra. He’d never heard of that river before. It was a living map. Very different from the maps they studied in school. There was no Onxypore, no Kokum or Bokum, no South Utsira. North Utsira and the cardamom islets were completely gone.
Their first stop was a waterfall. How very odd. The sign under it read: Kishm.
‘I’m so excited. It’s my first voyage,’ Kusmati said. My mom tried to stop my dad, you know, because of what happened to my brother, Gulaab.’
‘Your brother?’
‘He was kidnapped many years ago. I think he’s dead,’ Kusmati said quietly. Floyd felt a chill in his chest. She had suffered, just like he had.
Kusmati continued, ‘But my dad, all he does now is to travel this area, hoping to find him. You must have met my Ma at Uncle Balsam’s house.’
‘Ela is your mother?’ Floyd asked, surprised. So Naveen and Ela were no longer together; that explained Ela’s reluctance to get on the ship.
Kusmati continued chatting, ‘It was more than they could handle, I guess—and so was I. After Gulaab disappeared, my Ma’s sister, my aunt Sequoia who lives in Yosemite, you know, in America, invited me to stay with her. They were large and loud but I loved them. I loved California. We used to have so much fun—going surfing in the early morning fog. That’s why, last year, I told Ma that I wanted to go sailing with Dad. I love the water.’
Water is treacherous, mutable and powerful. Floyd shuddered at the memory of the hoarse, rasping voice of the Tannycatch.
Kusmati continued, ‘She tried her best to stop me but knew I’d made up my mind.’ She pulled a reed out of her hair and began cleaning her ear with it.
‘You don’t seem too broken up about your brother,’ Floyd remarked. She wasn’t nearly as irritating as he had first thought. Quite interesting, actually.
Kusmati turned away and her voice wavered. Her hair sprouted small tea roses that fell to the floor. She took a ragged breath and focused on the map above. ‘If I talk about it as if it’s a joke then it doesn’t hurt as bad.’
Floyd nodded without looking at her as tears pricked his eyes.
Kusmati studied her fingers. ‘I guess Gulaab would be your age now. Twelve or something.’
‘Thirteen. I’m thirteen,’ Floyd said, stung. Straightening his shoulders, he turned his attention back to the map. A bell sounded.
‘If you like, I can show you the rest of the ship later,’ she said. ‘But hurry. You must see the Ridgebacks.’
On the deck, about a dozen Ridgebacks stood at attention in a precise line. A loud gong sounded and the first Ridgeback unzipped its wings, pushed its hind legs on the deck and propelled itself into the air. A second followed, and then a third, and soon all of them flew together in an X-shaped formation. They glided gracefully around the ship. Everyone cheered wildly.
Floyd took a deep breath. How Farook would have loved to see this. I’ll find you, I promise, Farook.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump. It was Naveen. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you—I just hobble softly,’ he said in his soft voice.
‘Do all Ridgebacks fly?’ asked Floyd.
Navin smiled. ‘All Ridgebacks fly during Hobson-Jobson, but only the Ressuldar Ridgebacks are true flying canines. They’re called the F-class Ridgebacks.’
The Ressuldars cheered as the Ridgebacks twisted and turned and spiralled against the darkening evening sky until everyone watching was dizzy.
Floyd swallowed. ‘Thank you, sir. For helping me, you know, letting me on your ship and …’
‘I journey to find my boy, Yaksha.’ Naveen’s voice became hoarse and thick. He took a sip of hibiscus wine and looked out on the ocean. ‘Every time Gulaab spoke, a rose petal would drop from his mouth. For his first year, his mother collected every one of those petals and pressed them between the pages of a book. His energy, silent and beautiful as a dewdrop, is still here. But your mission is bigger than finding your brother or Kusmati’s. The stakes are higher than anyone can imagine.’
The Ridgebacks landed one by one, their Ressuldars waiting with moss towels. They lapped thirstily from a stone bowl.
Another gong announced dinner. A long wooden table was laden with pomegranates and berries, dried fruits and loaves of warm olive bread. Grilled leeks and pineapple wrapped in mango blossoms were dipped in sauces of tamarind and thimbleberry. More flagons of fragrant hibiscus wine were passed around, and the mood was raucous and jolly. Floyd piled his plate high.
Navin smiled at him and waved his cane.
‘Goodnight, Yaksha. You have a long journey ahead. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Naveen hobbled off the deck.
Floyd finished his meal as the deck emptied and the swinging waves lapped up the sun. How could he have even thought of turning away? Naveen was right—this was bigger than Farook or Gulaab. This was about Durjipore.
Kusmati walked up and sat at his table. She chewed on chicle sap, her green dreadlocks turning to gold in the setting sun. ‘I saw Dad talking to you,’ Kusmati sighed and pulled her cape closer around her. ‘He’s obsessed. He’s convinced you’re going to find Gulaab. I fear he’ll die of a broken heart if you don’t.’
Floyd felt a lump in his throat. ‘Okay, so no pressure there.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, grinning at him.
‘What did Gulaab—’ he stopped at a sound.
Kusmati fell silent too.
‘Did you hear that?’ Floyd said.
The sound was unmistakable. It was like heavy breathing. The air seemed to get chilly and smelled fishy. Just like Farook’s room the night he was taken.
Floyd felt a tingle in his spine. Someone or something was watching them. He looked around but the deck was completely empty except for him and Kusmati. Even Chutney had gone off with the other dogs for their mealtime.
The smell was stronger now, like rotting fish. Koos sat very still at the table, watching him. After walking around the entire deck several times, they both walked over to the deck rail and looked down. He nearly yelled in shock.
Clinging to the side of the ship, like a spider, was a figure swathed in a billowing purple cloak. From under the folds, a reptilian face with sharp teeth grinned at them. Kusmati screamed.
Floyd instinctively pulled out the Varengan feather out from under his sweater and held it up. The figure screeched, jumped on to the rail in a single leap and then boomeranged into the water. A smell of seaweed filled the air.
‘I do believe that was a Merrow,’ Kusmati said, sending a glacial shiver down Floyd’s spine.
13
The Waterfall of Faces
The next morning brought cheery sunshine and calm waters but the air crackled with tension. Guards with twisted wooden spears patrolled the deck. Clearly, the appearance of even a single Merrow wasn’t to be taken lightly. Naveen was convinced they were being watched. The ship was moving at a steady speed and a pleasant wind blew over the deck. The deckhands distributed oilcloths amongst the crew and passengers. Floyd wondered why.
Floyd sipped his freshly crushed pomegranate juice and pondered over yesterday’s situation. The image of the grinning Merrow kept flashing in his mind. The Varengan feather clearly was a Merrow repellent. Word about it had spread quickly and many Ressuldars had come up and asked to see it. They oohed and aahed, but most were afraid to touch it.
Naveen was searching the ocean with his binoculars. Small yellow roses were budding on the tips of his grey dreadlocks. He must be thinking of his son, Gulaab, who had disappeared and changed the family forever, Floyd mused. Like Farook—he shook the unwelcome thought off. No. He would find Farook.
Floyd turned to Balsam, who was tying on his oilcloth. ‘Balsam, what happened to Gulaab?’
Balsam’s face became long and his shoulders sagged. ‘Disappeared ten years ago—seen heading towards Chandi Mountain. Ela and Naveen foolishly tried to follow, but it
froze their roots and almost killed them.’
As he spoke, a few pink rosebuds buttoned his white hair. He smiled at Floyd. ‘My hair only does that when I speak of Gulaab. He was fifty per cent rose—it runs in Naveen’s side of the family. We’re mostly lily and tulip types, so those come more naturally to me.’
‘Maybe he just wandered away?’ Floyd suggested.
Balsam exhaled. ‘Naveen would never let that happen, and Gulaab wouldn’t disobey him. Some say a giant bird carried him off, others swear they saw a Merrow woman taking him by the hand towards Mount Chandi. He’d never have survived Chandi. There were no clues except for a small pile of dried roses.’
No wonder Naveen was so obsessed, Floyd thought. Gulaab’s body was never found. As grim as it sounded, wouldn’t it almost be better if it were? That would at least put an end to his searching.
‘Ela and Naveen haven’t spoken since. Naveen has always blamed himself; he was supposed to be watching Gulaab,’ Balsam said.
‘Land sighted,’ came the cry from the crow’s nest. The ship slowed. Floyd squinted at the hazy shoreline of an island on the horizon. The mast groaned as the sail was lowered. Morning sunlight stippled the side of the ship in green and gold below the sparkling water. Ridgebacks chased the circling seagulls that flapped away, squawking.
Floyd leaned over the clear green water. Something bright and shiny burst out in a wet spray, inches from his face. Chutney lunged, barking furiously. Floyd grabbed his collar and pulled him back. A school of flying fish, each one at least as big as a Ridgeback, flew over the ship, then dove back in, their iridescent scales like purple, green and blue suits of armour.
‘Nostril fish! Move back,’ Balsam shouted.
‘They’ll bite your nose,’ Naveen smiled as Floyd backed away from the deck rail. ‘Here. Put this on. Kishm approaches.’ Naveen threw an oilcloth at Floyd.
The riverbanks grew closer and were now bordered by high cliffs. Green vines, bursting with tropical flowers in purple and yellow, draped the overhang on each side.
