Poison's Kiss

by Breeana Shields

“You were crying pretty hard.”

  “It’s good to remind them that I’m only a child,” he says. “It gets me released sooner.” With the way Kavi talks, I think I need reminding that he is a child. “Good luck tonight,” he says.

  I sigh. “I’m not sure I can get the lock open in the dark.”

  “Give your eyes a few minutes to adjust,” he tells me. “But even if you can’t see, it will be okay. I can usually do it by feel.”

  My mouth drops open. “Usually? You’ve done this before?”

  “Yep. I stole the key when I was here the time before last,” he tells me. “I like to go exploring at night.”

  “Exploring?” I say incredulously.

  “Quit yakking over there!” someone shouts. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

  Kavi lowers his voice to a whisper, but I can still hear his indignation. “I told you before. I get hungry.”

  “But why not just leave if you have a key?”

  He doesn’t answer for a moment. “It makes them feel better to think they control me,” he finally says. “If they thought that I had outsmarted them, they would try harder.” I sit with that for a while. It makes me think of Iyla. I wonder if that’s how she felt—wanting to let the Naga think that they controlled her, but playing by her own rules. Voluntarily staying in a prison she knew she could leave whenever she wanted. I wonder where she is and if she’s happy. Even after everything, there’s a part of me that still cares about her.

  “You’d better go,” Kavi says. “The guards are changing shifts right now, so you don’t have to worry about them checking for a while.”

  My fingers are trembling as I slide my hand through the bars and grope in the darkness for the padlock. I’m holding the key so tightly that my fingers ache; I’m terrified I’ll drop it and send it clattering to the stone floor and my hope of escape will be gone. I try several times, but I can’t twist my wrist at the right angle to get the key into the lock. Beads of sweat have broken out on my forehead.

  “Marinda,” Kavi whispers. “Give me the key.” I pass the key through the bars to him and wait for the sound of him opening his own lock, but I don’t hear anything. My heart starts to pound—maybe he changed his mind and plans to keep the key after all. Then—the tiniest creak as the bars to my cell slide open. Kavi touches my elbow and I clap my hand over my mouth to avoid yelping. He pulls on my arm so that he can whisper in my ear. “Don’t say a word.”

  He takes my hand and leads me carefully through the dark. We turn left, which means we’re headed in the opposite direction of the staircase. The only sound I hear is the blood rushing through my ears. We make it to what seems like the end of the walkway, but then Kavi squeezes my hand, turns to the right and pulls me downward. We duck through an opening in the wall only half as high as a proper door. As soon as we’re around the corner, the space opens up and I can see a small amount of light coming from somewhere farther down the passageway.

  “This is a secret entrance,” Kavi tells me once we’re far enough away that we won’t be overheard by the other prisoners. “It’s a way for the guards to check on us without making any noise.” He leads me forward. “They keep some weapons in that little room there,” he says, pointing to the left, “in case the prisoners get out of control. And the kitchen is around the corner and up the stairs. I recommend the sweet bread.”

  “Thank you,” I say. My voice is trembling and my knees feel weak. I’m not sure I can do this.

  “Okay,” Kavi says. “Gotta go.” He puts one arm around my waist and gives me a quick hug. “Remember,” he says. “Fear is the fuel of bravery.” And then he scampers off back down the pathway and into the dungeon.

  I lean my head against the stone wall and take deep breaths. I’m out of my cell, but I have no idea what to do next. I don’t know how to get out of the palace, let alone how to find the Naga. I try to remember Hitesh’s directions. Due west. Path up the mountain. Snake Temple. But even if I find them, I don’t know what to expect. Will they try to kill me? Will they let Mani go if I promise to stay?

  The sound of footsteps somewhere above startles me into action. I creep along the wall toward the staircase, intending to head straight for the kitchen. But then I pause in front of the weapons room. The door is slightly ajar, and a weapon of some kind could prove useful. I glance into the room to make sure it’s empty and then I slip through the doorway. The room is considerably dimmer than the corridor, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Dozens of weapons hang on the walls: curved swords, battle-axes, a large mace, several spears. I heft one of the swords from the wall and immediately realize that carrying it will be impossible. It’s too heavy for me even to lift, let alone use properly. Or carry for thirty miles.

  I experiment with several other weapons before settling on a small dagger. It’s not much, but it’s the most I can manage. I squeeze back through the doorway and continue down the path. When I round the corner, I stop short. I’m at the bottom of the staircase that Kavi said led to the kitchen, but that’s exactly where the light is coming from. The last thing I want is to walk headlong into a room full of people when I smell like the dungeon. But I don’t have time to wait for the lights to go out either. I move up the staircase one step at a time, careful to make as little noise as possible.

  When I reach the top of the staircase, I peer into the room, but I don’t see anyone. Several rows of freshly baked rolls are cooling on the countertop. I’m just about to step into the room, when a maid breezes into the kitchen, humming softly. I flatten myself against the wall and hold my breath. The maid starts packing rolls—a dozen or so at a time—into canvas bags. I wonder if one of those rolls will end up on Kavi’s breakfast tray in the morning. After the bread is packed away, she starts cleaning the kitchen—scrubbing down the work surfaces with soapy water from a large wooden bucket. My calves are on fire from being pressed against the wall on my tiptoes, but I don’t dare move.

  After several minutes the maid disappears from view, and moments later I hear a door open. A breeze races past me and I hear the slosh and splash of water being tossed from the bucket. My heart leaps. There’s a door to the outside from the kitchen. It’s more than I could have hoped for. The maid continues working for what seems like an eternity, and by the time the lights finally go out in the kitchen, my whole body aches. I lower my heels to the floor and roll my shoulders, but I wait a few minutes before leaving the stairway.

  At last, when I’m convinced the maid isn’t returning, I dart from my hiding place and grab one of the canvas bags. I feel guilty taking so much bread—I don’t need all of it—but I most definitely need the bag and I don’t want to take the time to relocate the rolls. I look for something with a lid to carry water, but the only thing I can easily find is a metal mug. Hopefully, there will be a spring nearby. I toss both the mug and the dagger into the bag with the bread and slip out the door into the night.

  The mountain range looks close enough to touch, but I jog for at least two hours before I reach the trail Hitesh described. By then I am gasping for breath and my mouth is gritty with thirst. The nearly full moon is a grim reminder that I have less than a day to find Mani and still twenty miles to hike with no water and no plan. My head is pounding and I feel unsteady on my feet.

  I need to find water before I can do anything else. I wander along the path, looking for animal tracks, mud or any sign of a stream. When the trail forks, I choose a path at random and keep searching. The path branches off several more times before I finally hear the gurgling of flowing water. I run toward the sound and find a small stream full of large boulders. The water turns white as it spills over the rocks.

  I pull the mug from my bag and fill it at the edge of the stream. The water is ice cold and I’m certain nothing has ever tasted better. My thirst is satisfied after draining the mug once, but I fill it twice more anyway. I don’t know when I’ll find water again. I pull some bread from my bag and take small bites, forcing myself to chew and swallow. I’m
not even a little bit hungry, but I can’t hike for twenty miles on an empty stomach.

  Once I’m back on the trail, I realize I’m hopelessly lost. I can’t remember how many times the path broke off or which way I turned. Finally I realize that there’s no choice but to go back to the base of the trail and follow Hitesh’s directions. My jaw is tight as I hike back down the mountain. I should have paid closer attention to where I was going, and now I have no idea how much time I’ve wasted. As I walk, it occurs to me that Hitesh could have lied about the location of the Snake Temple. The thought sends a wave of nausea over me, but I push it away. It’s the only information I have, and so it’s follow this trail or nothing. The Raja couldn’t have known I would escape, so what would be the point in telling Hitesh to lie? I need to hold on to the hope of seeing Mani again if I’m ever going to make it up this mountain.

  When I’m close enough to the bottom that I can see the head of the trail leading straight down, I turn and quickly begin jogging back up the mountain. But my energy doesn’t last long and soon I can only manage a fast walk. At the first fork in the path, I turn right. And then right again. And then left. I walk all through the night, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, slowly plodding along. I find another stream—or maybe the same stream higher up—and fill my mug again. Then I continue hiking. Right twice. Left twice. Right twice.

  The darkness gradually recedes and the sky turns indigo and then violet. If I don’t hurry, this will be Mani’s final sunrise. But my legs are so tired they feel like jelly and I can barely keep my eyes open. Maybe if I rest for a few minutes, I can move faster and make up the time. I move off the trail and find a place to sit with my back against a large tree. My eyelids are heavy. It won’t hurt to close them for just a moment and then I can—

  I wake with my head slumped forward and a line of drool dangling from my lips. The sky is blue and clear; I must have slept for hours. Panic floods through me and I scramble to my feet. And then I hear voices and I go stiff. That must have been what woke me—the low hum of conversation. I peer around the tree toward the trail and see Sundari soldiers—dozens of them—traipsing up the path. These must be the men the Raja has sent to capture the Naga. It’s both good and bad news for me. Good because it must mean I’m headed in the right direction. Bad because now I have to worry about being discovered and hauled back down the mountain to the dungeon. Surely the Raja’s guards have informed him of my disappearance by now, and I can’t be certain he hasn’t alerted his soldiers. Especially since this is exactly where he would expect me to be.

  I wait for the soldiers to pass, and then I start hiking again, keeping a safe distance behind them. The boot prints in the path make them easy to follow, but I still keep track of my turns. Left, left. Right, right. They seem to be following the same path I planned on. But somewhere around midday their path turns in the opposite direction. I stare at the boot prints on the trail—turning down a right path when we were due for a left—and wonder which direction to choose. Do I trust what Hitesh told me? Or do I trust the soldiers that the Raja actually sent to deal with the Naga?

  I’m still staring at the dirt when I hear footfalls. I dive off the trail and press myself against a tree. The entire group of soldiers marches down the path, and they take a left now instead of a right. It seems sloppy to make such a basic mistake. Too sloppy. The only explanation is that there must have been a reason to go that way first. And then I see one of the men drinking from a canteen. Water. There must be a water source up there. I wait behind the tree until the group passes and they are far enough away that they won’t hear me. Then I follow the boot prints up the path to the right. Sure enough, a stream bubbles up from the rocks. It’s small, but it’s sufficient. I drink as much as I dare and then splash some water on my face and neck. My legs ache with exhaustion, but I keep picturing Mani, keep talking to him in my mind. I’m coming, monkey. Hang on, I’m coming.

  I fall into a rhythm with the Raja’s men, following their footprints up the right trails and up the wrong ones too, where there’s always water waiting for me. My hike becomes so mechanical that I’m barely thinking anymore—right turn, right turn, left turn, left turn—and so I nearly walk headlong into where the soldiers have stopped to make camp. They are fanned out on either side of the trail, and I spot them just in time to hide before they see me. My heart is pounding in my chest. Why are they stopping? It’s nearly nightfall. Are they not planning on confronting the Naga after all? The wind rushes through the trees above me and that’s when I smell it.

  The unmistakable odor of snake.

  “The Naga are due to arrive at dusk.”

  I’m hiding in a copse of trees, listening to an older soldier talk to a younger one. For perhaps the first time in my life, I’m grateful to Gopal for teaching me to be invisible, to see without being seen.

  “But won’t they see us as they pass?” the young soldier asks.

  “No. Greffi’s group has spotted them coming from the other side of the mountain. They’ll enter the temple from there.”

  My heart pinches at the thought of Mani trudging up this mountain to his own death, and I long to run to him. It’s all I can do to hold myself here and wait for an opportunity to slip past the soldiers. They’re too close right now—at least these two are. I’m holding my muscles so taut that they are trembling, but I’m afraid if I move an inch, if the soldiers hear so much as the rustle of a leaf, they will find me and kill me before I can get to Mani. The soldiers keep talking, and the conversation turns mundane—weapons, food, women—and I have to draw in slow, deliberate breaths to withstand the pain of keeping still.

  But then my ears are filled with the thundering of footsteps, someone running toward the camp, and I can’t help it, I turn my head. A boy dressed in mottled clothing stops near the camp. His cheeks are bright red and he’s gasping for breath. All the soldiers are immediately on their feet, and at first I think they mean the boy harm. But, no. They stop short and wait for him to speak.

  “They’re here!” the boy shouts. He puts his hands on his knees and sucks in a deep breath before he continues. “Somehow they got to the temple without us seeing them. The Naga are already here.”

  I’m on my feet and running before I hear another word. I don’t even bother with the trail; I just scramble up the mountain, underbrush cutting into my calves and branches scratching my cheeks. The musky smell grows stronger the higher I climb, and I follow my nose all the way to the mouth of a cave. The reptilian stench curls from the opening and I clap my hand over my nose and mouth, but it’s too late. I fall to my knees and retch until my stomach is empty and then stand up and wipe my mouth on the back of my sleeve. I can hear the soldiers behind me, racing up the trail. I pull the dagger from my bag and tuck it into my waistband. I will kill any one of them who tries to stop me.

  The cave opening is small and I have to stoop to get inside. Huge rocks litter the path and I carefully pick my way across them. The farther I get into the cave, the more the ceiling slopes downward. Eventually the only way through is on my hands and knees. Sharp stones cut into my palms and tear through my pants. I can hear the sound of water rushing somewhere beneath me and fear claws at my insides. Am I in the wrong cave? The musky smell has nearly vanished, and I don’t know if my nose has adjusted or if the odor really is gone. The cave is so dark I can’t even see my hands in front of me.

  A spray of rocks tumbles past. It must be the soldiers, though they will have to enter the cave one at a time. But now I don’t know if they are chasing me or the Naga. I crawl faster. I can feel blood trickling from my palms. After what seems like an eternity, the path beneath me starts to smooth out and becomes moist and slippery. I reach a hand above me and find only air, so I try standing. The cave has finally opened up and now I can walk upright without bumping against the ceiling. I trail the fingers of one hand along the wall and hold the other hand out for balance. The sound of rushing grows louder and I feel a stab of worry that I’m about to
walk headlong into swiftly moving water.

  Finally I see light ahead and I speed up, moving as fast as I dare, keeping my fingers on the wall to steady me. As I get closer to the light, the sound grows too, reverberating off the walls and filling the cave. With a start I realize it isn’t water.

  It’s chanting.

  I hurry forward and step into a cavernous space with a soaring ceiling. Hundreds of candles are scattered throughout the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls of the cave. I take a step back so I can survey the area without being seen, so I can search for Mani. The Naga—perhaps twenty of them—sit in a semicircle, holding hands and chanting words I don’t understand. They are wearing hooded cloaks made to look like snake scales—copper-colored and gleaming in the candlelight. A shiver races up my spine. It’s impossible to see their faces, but none of them is small enough to be Mani. My eyes scan the room again and it’s all I can do not to cry out his name.

  And then I see him.

  In the center of the semicircle is a stone altar. Mani sits on top, his hands and feet bound, fat tears crawling down his cheeks. I launch myself toward him, trampling over one of the Naga to make my way into the circle. The chanting dies away and the room breaks into confusion. I’m almost there. Mani sees me and relief floods his face, which only makes him cry harder. I get to him and pull on the rope tied around his wrists. I’ve almost got it loose when an arm circles my waist and drags me away from the altar. Mani screams, and it echoes through the cavern.

  “Marinda, stop this instant.” Gopal’s lips are against my ear. I stop for a moment, and then when he relaxes his grip, I elbow him hard in the stomach. He lets go and I race toward Mani again, but I’m too slow. Gopal wrenches my arm so hard I’m afraid he’s broken it. I cry out and stop struggling.

  “That’s a good girl,” Gopal whispers. And then he raises his voice and addresses the group. “My apologies,” he says. “This is our visha kanya and she’s feeling a little feisty today.” A few nervous laughs come from the circle. “I’m afraid she’s gotten rather fond of our sacrifice and now thinks she can keep it,” he says, and then squeezes both of my shoulders affectionately. “Entirely my fault. I’ve pampered her a little too much.”