by Payal Doshi
Rea, Leela, and Xeranther held hands as Oleandra pulled a silver thimble from the air and pricked her thumb on a thorn. A drop of her blood fell into the vessel and she beckoned them to do the same.
“They really love sacrificing blood for everything, don’t they?” Leela muttered, as Oleandra drew blood from her, Rea, and Xeranther (whose “ouch” was quite audible).
“We are now tethered by a bloodoath—an unbreakable bond. Act against it and the price will be fatal. Praise to the nectar, evil will be purged!”
Rea faked a smile. “So... where is the petal?”
“In the Village of the Dead.”
Rea glared at Oleandra for a full minute. “The Village of the—Dead?” She wanted to scream and shoo the butterflies from the woman’s face.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Dead as in dead, dead?”
“Is there another kind?” Oleandra reached for the potted plant.
“You didn’t think to tell us BEFORE we signed in blood that we have to fight the DEAD?” Rea turned frantic. “I have LESS than a day left! How am I supposed to get a petal from DEAD PEOPLE?”
“Well, little bud, I—”
“DON’T ‘LITTLE BUD’ ME!”
Xeranther, hyperventilating himself, restrained Rea from lunging at Oleandra, who looked as calm as the moment they had walked in.
“My, that’s a temper. Unsuitable for a princess. Befitting for a warrior! Now, I promised to disclose the location, not to hand you the petal. The Village of the Dead is where it lies and, oh, there will be a test. If you pass it, you will be granted access.”
“A test? What kind of test?”
Oleandra shrugged. “I’ve never had to take it myself.”
Rea seethed.
“Er... Is the village close?” Leela held Rea in case the answer threw her into a fit again.
“Well... I might have something which can get you to the village in a snap. All you do is take a sip, say where you want to go, and poof you’ll get there.”
“That would be great,” said Leela.
“C-can we get some for the way back as well?” asked Xeranther.
Oleandra levelled a look at him.
“Very well,” she said, dryly. “Could you summon your pari-friend? I require a sprinkle of pari dust.”
Glittering motes jumped out of Flula as she re-entered the hut and Oleandra, assuming a meditative pose, hummed a chant. Fuzzy stamens, fruit fibers, rotting roots, raindrops, multiple-limbed insects, and other flora-fauna-related items flew in through the windows and into a beaker of bamboo and straw. A rush of air swished over Rea’s cheeks, up her neck, and over her limbs, and a wavy strand of silver hair lifted from the side of her petal-skirt.
“Grey and wise with a smell of rolled up carpets. That can’t be yours, can it, Princess?”
“That’s Bajai’s hair!”
The strand fell onto her dress, camouflaged again. A few more puffs later, a fleck of dry skin floated above Rea’s arm. It, along with a short strand of Xeranther’s hair, glided over to the hovering ingredients and dropped into the beaker one after the other.
“Floral and feisty with a force of purpose. That’s you, Princess,” grinned Oleandra. “Mm... salty and grimy with a taste of grit. That’s your scent, Mr. Thistlewort.”
Leela sneezed and a drop of nose-goo swooshed towards the bubbling concoction and fell into it with a sizzle.
“And what have we here? Treacly and minty with a clanging of spirit. My, Earthling, you sure live around a crowd of folk,” Oleandra chuckled and summoned Flula, who shook and shimmied until the right amount of pari glitter mixed in the brew. When it was ready, Oleandra poured the concoction into four vials which they slung around their necks with a rope of twine.
“It’s called wortel-motus. Root-travel. Part of millennia-old flora-magic.”
“So, all we do is take a sip and say ‘Village of the Dead’ and it will get us there?” Rea asked.
“Aye,” said Oleandra. She turned to Flula and said, “Pari, your glow is part of the brew. A smidgeon of the potion for you should do.”
Rea held her hand out. “This is how we make a promise and give thanks on Earth. No blood required.”
Oleandra hesitantly extended her arm and shook Rea’s hand. “I rarely touch human-folk these days. It isn’t as terrible as I remember,” she laughed.
Halfway down the ladder, Rea ran back up.
“Did you know my mother and grandmother?”
Nostalgia flitted across Oleandra’s eyes. “There was a time when I knew your entire family.”
“My father, too?”
“Aye.”
Rea wanted to know more, but Oleandra cut her short. “There shall be other times to visit the phantoms of your past, Princess. For now, you have work to do.”
Chapter 26
The Village of the Dead
“On three,” said Rea and they each held the vial to their lips. “One... two... three!”
The potion tasted bitter like turmeric water. It swished and sloshed in her stomach and when she felt the need to run to the bathroom, her face and arms and legs melted into a puddle and within seconds, she was a blob of jiggling jelly seeping through the soil.
Whooshing through a twisty-turn-y network of roots, she whizzed past rotting plants, bugs, earthworms, and a blur of under-the-ground paraphernalia until phut! phut! phit! phut! she, Leela, Xeranther, and Flula coalesced beside each other amidst a carcass of trees.
“That was the scariest and coolest ride I’ve ever been on,” gushed Leela, patting herself to check if all of her had transported. “And I’ve been on a rollercoaster!”
“What enchanting words you use,” Flula said. She stretched her wings, mouthing ‘roll-er-cos-ter’.
Rea coughed out a mouthful of soil. She was glad to be back in solid form. All around, felled trunks cluttered the ground, some so large it appeared monsters had snapped them to pieces. Even for Astranthia, this place looked otherworldly.
“Sweet nectar,” laughed Xeranther. He wiped the dirt off his clothes. “I’m going to ask Oleandra for a barrelful of this potion. Zipping from one corner to another, my pockets will be overflowing with coins!”
Rea squinted through rays of murky light trickling through looming layers of nimbuses. Under their dark shadows, the trees resembled crooked hags.
“Why is it so dark?” she asked. “Isn’t it supposed to be morning?”
Leela’s enthusiasm of a minute ago disappeared. Low hanging clouds gathered close and the skies greyed. Flula’s glow sputtered.
“We’ve reached the Village of the Dead. The light of the living has been snuffed o-out,” she said, growing nervous. “I remember now. This is where souls go before they transition to their next life and where souls with... unfinished business reside.”
“A village of souls...” said Xeranther and Rea glanced above. The rustling leaves sounded like squeals and the trees swayed as if there was something living in them.
“Oh.” Flula glowed red. “Elder Pari warned us about banshees protecting this land.”
“Banshees?” said Leela. “Aren’t they heralders of d-death?”
“Yes,” she replied in a small voice. “We are taught as foliage-reporters to stay clear of them, especially the wailing ones. Banshees feed on people’s sadness and fly through the night looking for prey. When they find their victim, they let out a mourning scream so high-pitched, their victim’s soul shatters, making them d-drown in their own blood.”
Rea’s nerves stiffened and Xeranther shuddered when a branch grazed his arm. As they traveled down the eldritch road, smoke hissed from the ground as ruins of an ancient temple appeared, forgotten and abandoned. Time passed, and they turned forlorn. Rea searched for dead people, banshees, or even a gate.
“Can we stop for a while?” Leela groggily peered through dregs of smog. “I feel tired.”
Xeranther tottered with his eyes half-closed and Flula floated in a daze. Her glow had
weakened, diffused to a flicker. Merely a shimmer or two sprinkled out of her. Rea felt sluggish too. The air lulled her like a lullaby. She leaned against a cypress, her eyes closing. The bark was comfortable and her troubles... what were they?
“No,” she panicked. “I have to find the petal!”
Rea lunged to her feet and her eyes fell on bodies upon bodies of people glimmering in the shadows, sound asleep. She staggered to a halt. This was the Village of the Dead. No other living beings roamed its pathways and the ones who did—the four of them—were having their souls sucked into a deep slumber, maybe never to wake again.
Rea ran to Leela and Xeranther and slapped them on their cheeks. “Snap out of it! The village wants us to sleep and never leave.”
Leela yawned lazily and Xeranther gave his eyes a good rub. Rea held Flula in her hands and blew on her face.
“Aachooooo,” she sneezed a flurry of glitter.
That’s when they saw the bodies. Leela shrieked, accidently stepping on a sleeping woman’s arm and Xeranther, breathing rapidly, emitted a string of incoherent Astranthian curses.
“We need to keep talking to stay awake, okay?” Rea instructed and she prayed for none of them to fall asleep. “Tell me, what else do we know about banshees?”
“I think owls mark their coming,” Flula answered, fighting a yawn.
Rea thought about the owls in her nightmare and the owl on the Queen’s castle.
“Banshees can also change forms,” said Leela as she steered away from a corpulent man in embroidered robes. “Sometimes they appear as old women—”
“OWLS!” Xeranther yelled, pointing at a dozen fire-orange eyes blinking at them from hidden branches and the blood fell from Leela’s face.
“O-Or as a y-young lady,” she completed her sentence.
A beautiful woman with burning owl-eyes and luminous hair glided towards them wearing loose rags, ripped and frayed at the bottom. She was a banshee, a spirit of watery-white light and her gossamer robes shone through the willows of the night.
“Aliversss at the Village of the Dead!” Her voice, thin and singsong, flowed from two rows of needle-sharp teeth. “What do you ssseek?” she asked with a hint of fascination.
Xeranther nudged Rea and she mumbled, “Uh... we’ve come to collect... the missing petal... of the sacred flower.”
“Only soulsss of the dead and pure soulsss of Aliversss are allowed into our hallowed gatesss.” The banshee crisscrossed from Leela to Xeranther to Rea and Flula safely tucked herself back into Xeranther’s pocket. “Who daresss try?”
“I will,” said Rea.
The banshee swung to the other side and signaled for her to cross. Rea took a step and the tips of a thousand needles jabbed into her. She fell on her knees.
“There’s some kind of invisible barbed-wire fence,” she moaned. Pinpricks of pain throbbed on her skin. Luckily, there was no sign of blood.
The banshee cackled. “An Aliver with an impure sssoul.”
“What? NO!”
“A well of pain residesss in you, Aliver. There isss already much sadness in our village. You shan’t be allowed.”
“I don’t care! I have to save my brother.”
“Aliversss.” The banshee swayed between Leela and Xeranther. “Who daresss try?”
“I’ll go.”
“Xee,” exclaimed Rea. “Don’t do it!” She ran after him, but it was too late. He stepped into the invisible boundary and was assaulted.
“Rocksss of anger reside in you. Ssstep away, Aliver.”
Xeranther crawled back, apologizing.
“I guess, I’m next...”
“No, Leela, no,” Rea screeched but Leela walked right through to the other side as if there was no invisible fence. Flula shimmered in delight and Rea and Xeranther gaped in shock.
“Aliver with a pure sssoul,” crooned the banshee. “What do you ssseek?”
The banshee hovered in front of them, eyeing Leela as it awaited her answer. Leela’s glasses slipped to the bottom of her nose. “I-I...er... seek the missing petal of the sacred S-Som.”
“Our village isss a place where soulsss come to ressst,” the banshee said as a field of frosted-blue flames appeared behind her. Scattered in their midst were gravestone plinths shoved haphazardly into the ground. “If you ssseek to unrest one of our soulsss, you must pay a price.”
The blue-flamed souls wafted close and Leela pushed up her glasses.
“What k-kind of price?”
“I won’t let you do this!” Rea shouted from behind the invisible barrier.
The banshee circled Leela. “The petal isss a part of a flower’s sssoul. To ssseek it, you must part with a part of your sssoul.”
“NOOOO,” screamed Rea.
She ran ahead, and the stabs pierced her. Shouts came from everyone as she thrusted forward, first her arms, then her legs, pushing with all her might. She didn’t care about the pain or the drain on her strength. If anyone was going to give up a part of their soul, it was her. Not her friend.
PHAT!
She reeled and fell face down. Her arms and legs moved jaggedly but a smile crept on her face. She had made it to the other side. Dots of blood appeared over her hands and legs and the banshee screeched like a wounded bird.
A soft, shaky smile appeared on Xeranther’s lips and he turned to Flula who was covering her face with his pocket.
“Did you see that?” His eyes gleamed.
“Are you all right?” Leela helped Rea up. “That looked horribly painful...”
Rea nodded as the banshee circled around her.
“Aliver with a well of pain...”
Her heart beat fast.
“And an ocean of courage. Welcome to the Village of the Dead.”
Rea beamed with joy.
The banshee swooped low and gave a horrifying smile. “A part of your sssoul for a part of the flower’s sssoul.”
“How do I—?”
“Hold it,” said Xeranther, and the banshee swiveled to face him, the annoyance apparent on her face. Averting his gaze from her, he looked at the girls. “Before you give away a part of your soul, shouldn’t you see if the petal exists?”
Realization slapped Rea in the face. She had been too impulsive, again. She turned to Xeranther, incredibly grateful.
“I want to see the petal before I give up anything,” she stated, and the banshee flew precariously close.
“A memory or emotion. Pick your price.”
“A memory or emotion?” repeated Rea.
“A memory or emotion?” Leela asked even louder.
The banshee remained silent, wasting no breath on repetition.
“Are you asking me to choose between giving up a memory or an emotion?” asked Rea.
“If your price isss memory, a memory we choose will disssappear from your mind. If it isss spoken about, you will feel itsss absence like the losss of sssomething torn from your sssoul.”
Leela held Rea’s hand.
“If your price isss emotion, an emotion we choose will disssappear from your sssoul. You will no longer know what itsss presence feelsss like but itsss absence will feel like a crushing emptiness into which nothing can be sssubstituted.”
Memories of Rea tripping down the steps to her house, of her playing with Rohan, of her fighting with him, of Bajai kissing her to sleep, of her running through the tea plantations, of her sitting in school with no friends, of Amma aloof and overworked, of her, Leela, Xeranther, and Flula’s friendship, of the betrayal from her family, of her fear of the Queen, of her sadness at not being a better sister, of her pain of never knowing her father, of her anger at being lied to—swirled in her head.
Feebly, she faced the banshee and the banshee began to sing. It was hypnotic. Rea caught a few words, “Hither comes, that forlorn soul,” and the banshee lifted her hand to the skies.
A sapphire petal rested on her bloodless palm.
Xeranther and Flula let out a gasp.
The petal sparkled w
ith a tinkling of tambourines and glimmered with a beauty which overshadowed Flula when she was at her happiest. If there was ever a word to describe it, it was magical. And it lay before their eyes. Rea had to do all she could to resist grabbing the petal. Rohan would be free at last!
“Memory,” she said. It was the first choice that came to mind and Leela’s grip on her tightened. “Take whatever memory you want. I’m not afraid anymore.”
“Wondrousss.”
Rea didn’t think her choice was wondrous. She had just chosen it.
The banshee dipped her head in acquiescence and the torment in Rea’s soul subsided. She was ready. No memory of her past was worth more than Rohan’s freedom. When the banshee stopped circling, Rea knew she had chosen the memory she would take from her.
What if the chosen memory was of Rohan? How would she rescue him? Rea realized, agonizingly, she didn’t want to give up even the worst ones.
“The memory we ssseek isss of your father.”
Rea’s throat constricted.
“No, not Baba!” she cried, grabbing her locket. It burned so fiercely, she had to let it go.
Her mind churned. The memory of his face was draining from her soul faster than salt through a sieve. Every thought, every wish, every desire she had felt for him was being snatched away. Her insides revolted, not ready to give him up.
Then, the pain stopped. When she looked up, a shimmering, blue object rested in her palms.
“The petal! The sacred petal!” she screamed with joy. “It’s in my hands!”
As fantastical as it looked, it felt like an earth-petal—soft, velvety and light. She could fold it, bend it, caress it.
“If what you ssseek isss obtained, you may return to your world, Aliver.”
Rea ran back. “I passed the test!”
Flula’s chin trembled and she turned the other way.
“What’s the matter? I can free Rohan now. Aren’t you happy?”
“Of course, we are,” Xeranther said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We’re very happy.” His voice faltered.
“Rea...your Baba... do you remember him?” Leela asked, her lips trembling.
Xeranther shot Leela a look.
