Goddess of Gotham

by Amanda Lees

  ‘Time moves faster in the World Beyond. You would have but a year and a day as they measure it. A year and a day, Kumari. And then you would die!’

  Ah yes, the one other way to kill a goddess. Consign her to the World Beyond where she would be subjected to their physical laws. There, far away from the Holy Mountain, she would be unprotected from Time’s ravages, helpless against the World Beyond’s greatest disease. A year and a day before Time claimed her for its own, treating her worse even than a mere mortal, as it once would have treated the RHM.

  Oh, he was safe now, all right, secure in the kingdom. He would live as long as all the other citizens, privy as he was to their secrets, breathing in the haze of Happiness, although it had not always been that way. The RHM himself was from the World Beyond. Found abandoned as a young boy in the borderlands, it was Papa who had rescued him, brought him to the palace, treated him as his own. Educated him, cared for him and finally inflicted him on his daughter. For that, she all but cursed Papa every time the RHM spoke.

  After all, she was the one who had to listen to him droning on day after day. He had a voice that drummed right through your skull and scratched at your brain. In fact, she could hear it right now.

  Really hear it, out loud!

  She was hovering outside his door. There were voices coming from inside. A muffled shout then a gasp. A sudden thud. Then a murmur. That had to be the RHM. He always spoke softly. Somehow it made what he said more important. More sinister, even. The second voice again, rising in anger.

  ‘Pay up or I’ll . . .’

  Thud, thud. Then silence.

  Hmmm, very interesting. And in the middle of the night. Who was the man in the RHM’s room? And what had he been talking about? Some business transaction, it seemed, but at a very strange hour. On all her other expeditions around the palace in the small hours, she had never known the RHM to stay up this late. It was a puzzle she picked over all the way to the western door.

  As it clicked shut behind her, she forgot all about the RHM. Cold night air filled her lungs; the adventure was just beginning. She could make out the shapes of yaks dozing in the meadow alongside the palace as she stole past. Smelly beasts, thought Kumari, as one let out a prolonged fart. The meadow was fringed on the far side by forest, the intermittent moonlight picking out the twisted trunks of oaks and rhododendrons, casting them into monstrous curlicues that appeared to be alive.

  On the edge of the forest, she hesitated. It looked different in the moonlight. At night, strange sounds emitted from every leaf and branch, odd rustles and creaks. Don’t be so ridiculous, thought Kumari. They were only trees, after all. Still, she strode through it as fast as she dared, given that the branches hung so low. As the forest grew denser, she began to feel claustrophobic. For once, she was glad to be both small and slight. A larger person would have found themselves impaled on a thousand twigs.

  Suddenly, her head was jerked backwards. She froze, stifling a scream. Very slowly, she turned around. Her hair was caught up on an aged oak, its gnarled branches grabbing like grasping fingers. Kumari blinked at them once, twice. She could have sworn they moved.

  Don’t panic, she thought. Just untwist your hair verrrrry carefully. She began to unwind the long, black strands. The branch swayed, reaching for her face. Her hair was stuck fast, however much she yanked at it. The twigs were scratching, stabbing at her eyes. She tried to twist to one side. And then, suddenly, she felt it, a gentle caress on her cheek. An unseen hand released her hair. She was running, free. Crashing through the forest, not caring who heard her, stopping only when she had reached the slopes beyond, sending a silent thank you to Mamma.

  Safe above the tree line, she stood gasping for breath. A feeble squawk penetrated the sound of blood pounding in her ears. She pulled a seasick Badmash from her pocket.

  ‘You poor thing,’ she murmured, cradling him in her hands.

  Badmash tottered theatrically and collapsed against her chest.

  ‘OK, OK,’ she said. ‘Enough now, Badmash.’ Badmash was a great pet – but he did like to be a drama queen.

  Kumari clambered up the mountainside as it grew steadily steeper, Badmash perched on her shoulder, stubbornly refusing to fly. She had done her best to teach him, trying every trick in the book. After all, it was something she herself had to learn, one of the Eight Great Powers: the Power to Levitate or Fly Through the Sky. Power No 6.

  So far, she had acquired precisely none. It was not a brilliant record. Before she could become a fully-trained living goddess, she had to pass all eight tests. By now she should have passed at least one, two if she was really going some. It was not like she didn’t want to learn, just that somehow it seemed such an effort. Some Powers were more fun than others. Take the Power of Extraordinary Sight, for example. Among other things, it meant she would be able to see demons and spirits as well as discern the truth. Then there was the Power to be Invincible whenever she wielded the sacred sword. As for the Power to Move through Mountains – how cool was that?

  OK, so she had failed to gain even one Power. It made success tonight all the harder. And this was no ordinary ritual. This was the Great Summoning Ceremony itself. The means by which a god or goddess could be brought into another realm to offer help or, in this case, provide answers. Summoning would not free Mamma, however. She would return to the limbo from whence she came. The very act of Summoning was dangerous which was why, for once, Kumari had applied herself. Time and time again she had practised in the privacy of her bedroom. Somehow, she always got the words wrong. There were too many other things to think about.

  A lot of the time, for instance, Kumari wondered what it would be like to be normal. To roam the streets of the kingdom unobserved, to have a friend. She had no proper friends, apart from Badmash. And he did not really count, being a small, bolshy baby bird. What was so wrong with normal after all? Normal was better. If she were normal, she could giggle with the other girls. She could dress in something other than red robes that covered her like a sack. She might even get to cut her hair into something resembling a style. If she looked more normal, then boys might actually glance her way instead of casting their eyes to the ground on the rare occasions she passed by.

  Oh, she knew why they did it. It was out of respect for her status. No one could gaze upon the girl-goddess except the courtiers and the king himself. Which kind of put paid to any chance of her ever getting a kiss. Not that she really wanted a kiss. Well, not just from anyone. Kisses sounded, well, slobbery.

  Although one from Tenzin might be nice.

  Kissing. Another mystery. In fact, she had no idea how to do it. It was one of those questions she could not ask anyone, not even her Ayah. Mamma would have known what to say, would have taken her seriously. She would have understood how much Tenzin meant. Would have told her what to do.

  The thought of Tenzin sent butterflies flapping wildly about her stomach. Which annoyed Kumari because she liked to be in control. Or at least that was the theory. In practice, it was really hard. In which case, it was better not to think about him. Which was also pretty tough.

  So caught up was she in her thoughts, that Kumari did not realise quite how far she’d climbed. It was only when she stumbled and had to right herself that she paused to look down.

  Far below in the valley she could see the lights of the palace. A beacon always burned at each corner to let the people know they were safe. Although frankly, what with the Happiness deficit, the people were growing restless. Kumari’s gaze shifted to the royal wing. She squinted, trying to make out poor Papa’s window.

  There it was on the corner, beneath one of the seven gilded pagodas that adorned the palace roof. A dim glow was visible within; Papa could no longer sleep with the lights off. Next to his room, the RHM’s was in darkness. She remembered the voice raised in anger, the RHM’s soothing tone, then the thuds. He had been trying to shut someone up, that much was obvious. But what about and why? And in the middle of the night? As the god-king’s closest ai
de, the RHM was extremely powerful. He could easily deal with someone by daylight through the usual channels. Unless he did not wish to be discovered.

  It occurred to Kumari then that the RHM could be her suspect. He had the opportunity, the influence. But what about the motive? The RHM had appeared to love her Mamma, certainly to respect her deeply. No, it could not have been the RHM. He had no reason to kill Mamma.

  Bored now of staring at the palace, Kumari’s perspective widened. She swept her gaze over the valley, settling on a house in the Court Officials’ District. Tenzin was the son of the Royal Treasurer. It was how she had first come to lay eyes on him, accompanying his father to court. Unlike all the other boys, he had dared to look her in the eyes, glancing at her sideways with an amused glint.

  How dare he, had been her first thought, followed by a rush of admiration. The boy had guts, not to mention a cute smile. Of course she had turned away, lifting her chin a touch haughtily. And then ruined the entire effect by glancing back when she thought he wasn’t looking. Naturally he was and naturally he had grinned triumphantly. Kumari could not help but grin back.

  Right now he was asleep, as far as she could tell from his darkened house. Or maybe lying there in his bed, thinking of her . . .

  Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. Tenzin had far better things to do. Like hang around with the other kids with whom he attended school. Kumari had never been to school. Instead, she had the RHM and the Ancient Abbot.

  It made it much harder to get away with anything, being the only kid in class. But Kumari had her methods. Take tonight, for instance. It made it all the more exciting, knowing how furious they would be if they found out. Except, they were not going to find out. She would be back in her bed just after dawn.

  Huddled against a boulder, knees drawn up, Kumari stared at the changing sky. Indigo was giving way to grey; soon the sun would splash it with golden streaks. Across the valley, she could barely make out the contours of the Holy Mountain, its foothills shrouded in mists, its peak crowned with cloud. She stared at the foothills, wishing that, just for once, the veil of the mists would be ripped apart. Hidden by it, her mother lingered, gazing back at the land she still loved.

  The Holy Mountain was blessed, its tip the most sacred spot of all. The summit cloud acted as a screen, shielding the gods from mortal gaze. The only way to ever see a god was to summon one from the mountain and the ability to do so was only handed to a few. The Ancient Abbot had taught her the words, the formula written in her ritual book. But words were nothing without magic. And magic involved risk.

  Summoning was not entirely safe for either side. You never quite knew what might appear. In Mamma’s case it was doubly dangerous, alone as she was, unprotected by the other gods.

  ‘Summoning,’ the Ancient Abbot said, ‘is only to be used in extreme circumstances.’

  Well, these circumstances were extreme. How else could she communicate with her Mamma? And Mamma would understand; she had always urged Kumari on.

  ‘Be strong,’ she would say. ‘Fight for what you believe in, Kumari.’

  Well, she believed in her mission. She believed it was the only way. Kumari stared harder at the mountain and murmured, ‘Mamma.’

  A tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it aside, furious. ‘No tears,’ Mamma always said.

  ‘No tears,’ whispered Kumari.

  Nestled in her robes, warm against her belly, Badmash glanced up and let out a squawk. Kumari looked down and smiled. She had almost forgotten his presence.

  ‘Soon, now,’ she soothed. ‘You hang on in there.’

  Badmash was growing restless, his belly growling for food. Any normal bird would have gone foraging for a few worms. But Badmash was no normal bird. In fact, he hardly considered himself a bird at all. It was why he refused to fly, or so Kumari theorised. In any case, it gave him a human-sized appetite along with a lot of attitude.

  Very soon, though, the sun would rise, a sudden slash through the grey cloud. The cold mists would be ripped by light, night turning swiftly to day. It was alchemy itself and Kumari loved it, the bleak mountains bathed in sudden gold, the frosty sky on fire. Each jagged peak would salute the sun as the valley awakened. Demons would scuttle back inside their caves. Eagles would swoop in delight.

  With the dawn, she would perform her ceremony, then slip back to the palace. They could be there by breakfast time, with her Ayah none the wiser. The Ayah brought breakfast each morning, laid out on a silver tray. Yak yogurt and honey for Kumari, a whole mouse for Badmash. At first the palace cook had protested so now the Ayah simply slipped one on the tray in transit. It was pretty impressive, come to think of it, having an Ayah who could handle a dead mouse.

  A sound cracked through the air, the snap of a twig breaking. Whirling round she saw nothing save a ragged shrub swaying in the wind. Little grew above the tree line; the climate was too harsh. The wind was bitter, unrelenting, unlike the balmy valley below. Kumari dropped her head to her knees and pulled her robes tighter. Alone on the hillside, it felt as if the dawn would never come.

  Thoughts began to taunt her. Just who was she kidding? Imagining she could summon up her Mamma. She was nothing but a joke. She had not passed a single one of her Powers, for heaven’s sake. And at this rate she never would. Call herself a trainee goddess? Trainee dingbat more like.

  And then she felt it, a flash of warmth on her back. She whipped her head up to see the mountain. Above it, the sky blazed, aflame.

  Hastily, she pulled out her book.

  ‘Place incense on charcoal,’ she muttered, reading out the instructions. She had done this a hundred times before but this time she had to get it right.

  The firestick stubbornly refused to light, no matter how hard she flicked it.

  ‘Stupid thing,’ cursed Kumari. The sky was getting lighter. Then, with a whoosh the firestick ignited. With trembling hands, she applied it to the incense. A wisp of fragrant smoke curled into the sky, scenting the air all around. Rising to her feet, book in hand, Kumari read over the next bit. From his perch on her shoulder, Badmash cooed. He did so love a good ritual.

  ‘OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA

  OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA

  OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA . . .’

  Kumari chanted, feeling a little silly. That was part of the problem. The words just felt all wrong. This is your one shot, she thought. Come on girl, give it all you’ve got. Breathing in until her ribs felt like they might crack, she threw back her head and howled:

  OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA

  OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA . . .’

  Swaying backwards and forwards, Kumari did her best impression of the Ancient Abbot. He might be an old guy but he could chant with the best, voice rising higher and higher, making the whole temple echo. One day she fully expected him to take off and hit the temple roof. Now and then it gave her the giggles, which she had to stifle in her sleeve. Today, however, was no laughing matter. It felt as if her whole life rested on this moment. To see her mother one more time, she would happily die for that.

  On and on Kumari chanted, working through all the verses. For once they came easily, without her having to glance at the book.

  ‘HOWL WIND, ROAR THUNDER . . . ’

  She blew into her cowrie shell.

  ‘RIP HEAVEN’S VEIL ASUNDER . . . ’

  She waved her firestick aloft.

  ‘THROUGH FLAME, THROUGH FIRE,

  THROUGH HELL ITSELF COME FORTH!’

  On and on she chanted, beating the ground beneath her feet, summoning up the spirits from the earth and sky, from the heavens and the depths. Around her the wind howled, shrieking with a thousand demonic voices. The mountain trembled as the spirits woke and shook it in a rage. A sheet of fire shot from the distant peak. Thunder rumbled in anger. The gods did not give up their own without a fight, even when they were stuck in some nether world.

  At last, Kumari slumped to her knees, spent, her head bowed, her heart broken.

  She h
ad done her best, given it her all. And still there was nothing. She would never see or hear Mamma again. Never get to the truth. Never find out who had killed her. Never be able to sleep in peace.

  Then she felt the sun burst across her face, the first shaft of daylight. Snapping open her eyes, she was all but blinded.

  And there – before her – stood a shape, silhouetted against the fiery skies.

  The sunlight picked out the edge of scarlet robes, casting a halo round a hooded head. A hand reached for Kumari, its touch the one she craved. She could smell Mamma’s familiar perfume, see the royal ring on her finger. Although her face was deep in shadow, she knew this, at last, was her mother.

  ‘Mamma?’ She took a step forward, face lifted in longing.

  Cold fingers closed around her own.

  Then everything went black.

  CHAPTER 2

  A great roaring filled her ears, a sound unlike any she had ever heard. Strange smells filled her nostrils: leather, sweat and something else. Her head was being flung around, her body jerked side to side. She tried to roll with the motion, as if she were on a boat. The roaring changed in tempo, increasing and decreasing. There was an earsplitting squeal and the motion abruptly ceased.

  ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

  The man’s voice came from beside her, speaking roughly in a tribal tongue that she recognised. It was the dialect used by the warlords who plagued the western borderlands of the kingdom. Dimly Kumari recalled feeling a sharp pain in her arm and then an endless sleep punctuated by movement and sounds: yet more voices, being shoved around, manhandled as if she were a potato sack.

  ‘It’s the Macy’s Parade,’ came another voice from her other side. ‘Dumb cab driver’s taken the wrong cross street.’

  A sensation welled up inside Kumari. Desperately, she tried to speak. Her tongue felt swollen, her throat dry as dust. Finally, she managed to croak.