by Rohit Gaur
“But why can’t they find your objects if they know where to find them?”
“The power that is used to protect them works very well against the inhabitants of the Veiled Lands, but not so well against humans. The temples have been closed for so long that the Serpentine have all but forgotten about humans, except for a few who travel back and forth. They don’t think humans would dare such things and they certainly won’t be expecting a human to try and steal back the objects. That’s why you are so important. That’s why I need you, Tarun.”
Tarun took a deep breath. He felt tired, the bruises on his knees ached, but the thought of his mother gave him determination.
“Alright, let’s go then. Show me the way.”
Ganesha smiled again. “I appreciate your eagerness. But you need to rest before you go. Take my word for it, your mother is safe for now. Time will be of the essence once you cross the bridge to the Veiled Lands, but you can spare a few hours now before you go in.”
Tarun nodded: the thought of sleeping while his family was in danger had little appeal, but his body felt otherwise. Ganesha pointed to a sleeping mat that Tarun could have sworn was not there a minute ago, and he lay down. Just a short rest of the head and then he would be off: to enter the Veiled Lands, to find the objects, to bring his mother (and himself) back home. Before he could nod off, a thought occurred to him.
“Why me, though? I understand you need a human, but why me? Why Tarun?”
Ganesha’s head had fallen back on his chest, his eyes closed. Without a flutter of the eyelids, he gave a short response before falling back into a silent sleep.
“Why not you, Tarun? Why not you?”
Chapter 7
TO MARKET
Tarun sat eating the breakfast that Ganesha had laid out for him: fruit, a grainy mash, and some sweet milk. After several hours of fitful sleep, he still felt groggy, but the food was helping. He took the time to examine the cavern again: the wall paintings, the grassy floor, the immense dais on which Ganesha sat contemplatively. A shaft of bright light now shone down through the opening in the ceiling, illuminating more fully the distant recesses of the space that had been darkly shadowed the night before. Tarun could see several carved archways at various points along the wall’s surface that led in different directions out of the main room, each one marked in a language he could not read. He was about to ask where they led when Ganesha began to speak.
“Before you enter the Veiled Lands, Tarun, there are several important things for you to know.”
Tarun looked over at Ganesha, his eyes half-closed, his arms crossed over his protruding belly.
“Most of the creatures you will meet in the Veiled Lands do not resemble humans. They are, like me, more reminiscent of what you think of as animals. Try not to be surprised by who you meet or see—it will likely attract suspicion. Whatever you do, do not speak to any of the Serpentine guards. They are constantly on the lookout for those who do not belong in the Veiled Lands. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Now when you enter, my friend Galerest will find you—he is a leader of the campaign against the Serpentine. He will serve as your guide through the Veiled Lands and so you must listen to and obey everything he tells you to do. I trust him completely. He has tracked down the locations of my sacred objects and will help you on your quest to recover them.”
Tarun finished the breakfast and pushed the tray away. He was wondering what type of animal Galerest would turn out to be.
“There is another small matter, Tarun. You see, when a human enters the Veiled Lands, they become what we call a ‘Traveler,’ a visitor to our world. The creatures that reside in the Veiled Lands permanently are called ‘Transcendents.’ But a Traveler who stays for too long in the Veiled Lands eventually becomes a Transcendent; that is, they assume the form of a permanent resident.”
Tarun looked up sharply. “You mean . . .?”
“Yes. If you stay for too long in the Veiled Lands, you will change form.”
“What will I change into?”
“I don’t know, Tarun; only time will tell. Your form would be a reflection of what’s inside of you. All Travelers who become Transcendents join one of the four classes—unless they are of a special class of their own.”
Ganesha seemed to look at him significantly when he said this. Tarun thought about what it meant. He certainly did not want to become a lizard or a frog. Or even a cow.
“How long does it take? To . . . transcend?”
“It depends,” Ganesha responded slowly. “It usually takes at least a few days, a week at the most.”
“A week!” Tarun responded. “I can’t be in there for a week. What about my mother?”
Ganesha said nothing.
Tarun felt his anxiety rising again as he thought about spending days in the Veiled Lands with the Serpentine on the lookout for him. He knew that he would not be entirely alone, but what would Galerest be like? And now Ganesha tells him that in addition to all of these worries he would be racing against the clock to prevent himself from turning into who knew what. The prospect seemed daunting. If only he could just go home . . .
Think of your mother, he told himself.
He remembered what he really needed to know: “How will I get back home? I mean, to the Bare Lands?”
“Just follow Galerest. He will show you the way.”
“But what if he disappears or gets injured? What if I lose him?”
“Just don’t lose him.”
Arjun stood in his kitchen, arms on his hips, where, only hours ago, he had greeted his family over breakfast. Deputies and assistants bustled about setting up a new command center. After the breach of security, it had been decided that the chief minister would remain in his residence, despite the irony that it was this very residence where the security breach occurred. The main priority of everyone, however, was securing the safe return of Parvati and Tarun. In the hands of the militants, they were not only in danger themselves, but they endanger the country. Arjun knew that it would be difficult to conduct himself calmly or rationally while his family remained in harm’s way, not to mention the public outcry that could ensue if the knowledge got out. So far, the kidnappings had not reached the news networks and, for now at least, they hoped to keep it that way.
He cornered an agent. “Have the blockades been set up? Where are we?”
“Yes, sir. No traffic is moving within fifty miles of the city without an inspection.”
“What else?”
Vishal interjected: “We’ve also begun monitoring radio and cellular communication in the north, searching emails of known operatives. Delhi has been contacted and they are sending reinforcements and tech our way. It will be a few hours until we’re fully up and running, but we’ve got a good start.”
Arjun nodded, but nevertheless could not resist thinking: Not good enough.
Ganesha rose slowly from the platform, stretching his legs and arms. He stepped carefully onto the floor of the cave and helped Tarun to his feet as well. It was the first time Tarun felt his skin. It was warm and soft, like a rich leather.
“It is time that you left, Tarun, but before you begin your journey into the Veiled Lands, I have some final advice for you. The objects that you will be retrieving for me from the Serpentine contain great power: my axe, which cuts through ignorance and earthly attachments; my rope, which pulls the heaviest burdens and puts goals within reach; and my broken tusk, which separates the good from the bad. These are not ordinary objects, of course, but vessels for great magic. But it is a magic only available to a wielder who is pure of heart, someone like yourself, Tarun. In your hands, the objects may turn out to be useful in finding your way. Just trust yourself.”
Tarun wondered at that advice: no one had ever trusted him to do anything. His parents, his teachers, his friends—he had always relied on other people for help or support, not the other way around.
“I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not sur
e that I’m the right person. Isn’t there someone else who can help you?”
Ganesha turned slowly and looked him directly in the eye, his brown irises firm and steady.
“You have been chosen for this task. You are the only one who can complete it. Everything depends on you and only you.”
Tarun gulped.
Before he could object any further, Ganesha had taken his arm and begun leading him toward the far wall of the cave. An elaborately decorated archway loomed before them, centering on a rough-hewn wood door with iron hinges. Another circle of iron hung from the center and Ganesha grasped it in two of his hands.
“This door will lead into the Veiled Lands. Although I could send you anywhere within it, Galerest and I agreed that the safest place for your rendezvous would be a crowded locale where you are unlikely to be noticed. As such, I am sending you into the Market Sway. Keep to yourself, don’t talk to anyone, and above all, do not attract attention to yourself in front of a Serpentine guard. Are you ready, Tarun?”
“No.”
Ganesha laughed softly and placed two of his hands on Tarun’s shoulders. “I believe in you. Try to believe in yourself.”
With that, Ganesha swung open the door. A blast of hot humid air and bustling noise burst into the cave. Tarun felt himself pushed gently through to the other side and heard the door slam shut behind him. Before he could even turn around, he knew what he would find. The door, once closed, had disappeared from view.
The blue light of dawn came through the open window where Parvati lay on a cot, unsleeping, mind twisting into knots. The mountain air rested on her skin like a chill bath as she listened to the footsteps of the guard outside her door, pacing back and forth. She couldn’t help but replay in her head everything that had occurred since those moments at the festival. Could she have resisted, fought back? Done more to protect Kumar and Tarun? It didn’t matter. She needed to focus now on staying alive, not upsetting her captors, getting home safe. Arjun would be looking for her with the full force of the state of Kashmir behind him. It wouldn’t be a day—maybe two—before they found the camp and rescued her. She knew it.
In a nearby tree, a bird whistled its morning song: soooo-weee, soooo-weee. It reminded Parvati of her childhood at the home of her parents in the countryside, the windows flung open, letting in the summer heat and the songs of birds. When she was seven or eight, she had developed an intense fear of the dark. She would lie awake all night, petrified of the small creaks or thumps that all old houses are prone to make. Only the sound of morning swallows singing at dawn could ease her mind and let her sleep.
She closed her eyes and thought of things far away.
After the heat and the noise, the first thing Tarun noticed was the rancid smell, like rotting produce or days-old garbage. Wherever Ganesha had taken him—it was dimly lit, so hard to tell—could use a thorough cleansing.
As his eyes adjusted, Tarun saw that he was in a narrow alleyway. Brick walls rose on either side, and canvas or some other material had been lain over the gap between them about twelve feet up. The ground underneath his feet was tiled with slick stones, oozing puddles of scummy water gathering between them. The smell likely came from the water: it looked green and polluted.
The noise he had initially heard came from one end of the alleyway, where it spilled out onto a main thoroughfare that appeared crammed with people. Tarun crept closer, carefully stepping over the puddles.
Definitely a market, he thought to himself, peering out from the shadows. Across the alley he could see what looked like a makeshift storefront with a canvas awning protecting a tumble of goods for sale. Blankets, baskets, shoes, lamps, brass plates, spices, everything seemed mixed together in great heaps and stacked towers. Then, from between the boxes and piled linens, a face appeared and shouted at the passersby: “Rugs! I’ve got beautiful Albivendain rugs! Cheapest in the Market Sway!” Tarun squinted and looked closer. The face was a light pink color, with small patches of hair sticking out at odd angles from behind his high ears and out of his collar. Most startlingly, in lieu of a nose, the shopkeeper appeared to have a rather large snout with wide nostrils, like a pig. His face looked, Tarun thought, a bit like a mask, but Ganesha had warned him that the people here would not look the same. I guess this is what he meant.
Refocusing, Tarun began to examine the dozens of other people milling about in the corridor between the stalls on either side. His eyes darted quickly from face to face, seeing feathers, scales, and fur, talons and beaks, forked tongues and tails, paws and long ears. A man or woman with the face of a sparrow or starling walked by quickly, dressed in a simple brown tunic. A brightly colored salamander, tall and thin, stalked by in the other direction. A pair of wolflike creatures with long snouts and long white fur stopped to examine something at the stall next to the alley, and Tarun caught a moment of conversation.
“Look at this, Olly, a fieldhopper. Sharp, isn’t it?”
“I haven’t seen one of those in ages.”
“Looks brand new. How much does it . . . thirteen rickles. That’s outrageous.”
“It wouldn’t have cost two only a year ago.”
“Well, that’s what happens when the Serp—“
The wolf trailed off as he looked furtively around. Tarun didn’t know how he was planning to finish the sentence, but he could guess. The wolves moved on, however, declining to buy the fieldhopper.
Tarun wondered if he should stay put in his hiding place. Ganesha had not explained how he would find Galerest—would he even know where to look? The alley was also not particularly inviting or hospitable, but he couldn’t be sure it was safe to wander the market alone. Scanning the faces that walked by, there were a few that looked human—or almost human, with rough bloated skin, twining dark tattoos, and brightly colored hair in various states of artful disarray. Tarun wondered for a moment if he might actually stand out for not being dressed like a punk rocker. Then again, he was still wearing the orange dhoti his mother had made him put on for the festival. He might fit in after all.
Behind Tarun, a door opened onto the alleyway and a bucket of liquid was thrown out, sloshing down on the wet stones. A wave of nauseating odor drifted up. Tarun decided it would be best to leave the alley, lest he be caught skulking. If Ganesha trusted Galerest to find him, Tarun felt sure he would.
He stepped quickly out into the thoroughfare and began walking through the busy corridors. The market was full of curious sights: bags overflowing with scented spices, some brown and red, others blue or violet; candles that burned plumes of sparkling smoke; small burbling creatures with round faces and long protruding limbs that climbed over the goods, reaching small objects for interested buyers. He examined the names of the shops emblazoned above his stall: Desertstones, Crescent Codex, Astrotinks, Surge’s. He passed a small fountain that splashed with what looked like shining molten gold and row upon row of statues carved from gnarled pieces of wood that vibrated and hummed as he walked by them. A clothing shop filled with nothing but white robes, a jeweler selling amulets with live green dragonflies trapped within them, a grocer selling pungent cheeses and black-looking meats—truly everything seemed to be for sale somewhere within the market. Everywhere Tarun looked people were haggling for goods, shopkeepers turning from friendly to hard bargaining in an instant.
Up, way up, Tarun glanced a thin strip of blue sky. At least one thing is still the same color, he thought.
As he rounded a corner, Tarun noticed a group of chairs and tables set out before a wide storefront. People were sitting in small clusters, drinking from large mugs and talking loudly. Tarun looked at the sign: Pestle & Bones Pub. This could be an ideal place to sit and wait for Galerest, out of the streaming crowds but able to watch them carefully. He entered through a set of swinging electric blue doors and selected a table next to the front window. In the back, three musicians played strange melodies on instruments he could not recognize. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, heads bent over their tables an
d speaking in hushed tones.
For a few minutes, he watched the people in the half-filled café and the shoppers milling about in the crowded corridors of the market. The café was dimly lit, so he could see the people outside very clearly. He overheard bits of conversation from a nearby table, but he didn’t know what it meant. All Tarun could make out were references to “exit visas” and a “harbor blockade.” It sounded like he wasn’t the only one trying to get smuggled out of the city.
Before long, he caught his first glimpse of what he assumed to be two Serpentine soldiers, elongated reptilian heads perched over dark green uniforms. They glared at the people as they stalked down the corridor, faces frozen in repulsion. Neither of them spoke or made any movement other than gliding forward, but the people all around shrank from their approach, pressing against booths or piles of goods to give them a clear path. Abruptly they turned at the café entrance and entered through the swinging doors. Every eye in the place turned, some openly, most surreptitiously, and the conversations and music halted.
Sitting close to the entrance, Tarun could see up the long black staffs carried by the Serpentine soldiers, which seemed to hum with an electric energy near their needle-like points. Tarun could almost hear the vibrations given off by the staffs—and somehow he knew that these were magic weapons like the ones Ganesha had lost. The pair of soldiers stood only a few feet inside the entrance, examining the upturned faces of its occupants. From left to right they moved their gaze, finally settling directly on Tarun. Not daring to make eye contact, Tarun held his breath, all of his muscles tensely knotted as he tried to make himself disappear.
Then, just as suddenly as they entered, the soldiers turned and left, apparently satisfied by their brief inspection. As they passed out of sight, Tarun let his breath out in a long stream. Close one, he thought. The people around him seemed to feel the same way, as everyone collectively relaxed and resumed their chatting and drinking, and the music resumed.
