We Shall Be Monsters, page 36
Tav hesitated. Her heart leapt in hope; she was already imagining the two of them riding away from here, away from the thick, bitter tang of blood and the wails of the fatally injured.
Then a butterfly fluttered near his ear, and he tensed. He turned away from her and toward the figures of two approaching men. Their pace was leisurely, as if they could not be touched by the surrounding turmoil.
Divya didn’t recognize the older man. His face was mature and handsome, with a glossy black beard and dark eyes, his body packed with muscle under his armor. A massive sword was slung across his back, a smaller mace bumping against his hip. She knew at once this must be Anu Bakshi, the warlord who had been making his campaign across Dharati for the past several months.
And beside him…
“Adi,” Tav whispered, and the anguish held in his brother’s name could have felled Divya right then and there. “What are you doing?”
The asura stood at Bakshi’s side, his expression neutral save for the pinch of his eyes. The trishul he held in one hand was nearly as tall as he was, gleaming brassy gold. The fact that he didn’t bother to hide the holy weapon meant that Bakshi must have known who they were. What they were.
“You’re supposed to be in the fort,” Tav said slowly. The rest of the battle didn’t exist at that moment, the four of them caught within a bubble. “Did he…?”
“He hasn’t kidnapped me, Tav. I’m here willingly.”
“Why?”
Advaith sent a pleading glance to Bakshi, who nodded at Tav with only the vaguest hint of respect.
“Greetings, Holy Deva,” he said, his timbre clear and deep. “It is unfortunate we must come to blows.”
A burst of laughter escaped Tav, and Divya was startled into half lifting her dagger. “Unfortunate? Look at your great work!” He swung his arm out, gesturing to the horror of the plain. “You’ve burned our land and killed its people. You want to destroy the royal family and claim this ruined country as your own!”
“Tav, wait.” Advaith stepped forward, his free hand held out before him. “I can explain later, but I’m here under Lord Dukha’s orders.”
“Lord Dukha?” Tav repeated.
“Yes. I have to…” His voice failed him, and he aggressively cleared his throat, no longer looking at his brother. “It won’t make sense now, but I promise it will. This is for the good of Martya and Patala. Good for the rakshasas.”
“What good does this do for the rakshasas?” Divya asked.
Advaith frowned at her. “This is between the asura and the deva. You don’t need to know.”
Divya’s ears rang. In all the time they’d known each other, in all the time they’d been friends, he’d never spoken to her this way.
“Then why is he here?” Tav demanded, pointing his talwar at Bakshi. “He killed Baa-Ji!”
Advaith flinched. “I said I’ll explain later.” His words were starting to sound rushed, desperate. “Tav, please, you have to trust me.”
“I always trust you,” Tav said. “But I need answers.”
“Our chance is slipping away,” Bakshi said, eyeing the remnants of the battle. “Do it now.”
Divya’s chest constricted, ready to move depending on what the asura did next.
But she wasn’t prepared for what happened. For Advaith to sprint forward, trishul raised, straight at Tav. For Tav to merely stand there and watch, stunned, as the brother he loved more than anything sank his weapon into Tav’s abdomen.
A scream built in Divya’s throat and refused to leave. Instead, it shrieked like a howling, battering wind inside her as she stared at the trishul, two of its three prongs puncturing through Tav’s armor to the flesh beyond. Tav took hold of the trishul’s stock, gaze never leaving his brother’s.
“What?” Advaith’s eyes burned cinnabar, wide with terror. “No…Tav, you were supposed to…Why didn’t you block me? Why didn’t you fight back? You were supposed to fight back!”
His voice was an anguished howl by the end. Tav had begun to glow blue, but the light was already stuttering around him, like a struggling heartbeat. He sank to his knees, pulling Advaith and the trishul down with him.
“Adi,” Tav whispered. He released the trishul and reached up, cradling the side of Advaith’s face, smearing blood across his cheek. “Veera. Why would I ever fight against you?”
Advaith sobbed for breath. “You were supposed to…He told me it was the only way to do it…”
Divya was too cocooned within her shock to notice it at first, but his words stirred a memory inside her of a storyteller’s measured cadence. Learning of halahala, the product of the asura and the deva clashing.
Already, she could detect fine, nearly invisible threads of black stirring from the spot where Tav’s blood had spilled. Bakshi smiled to himself.
That broke the spell on her. Divya came back to herself like a lightning bolt, all suddenness and heat.
The scream lodged within her roared free as she ran forward and plunged her dagger into Advaith’s chest.
The force of it pushed the asura away and loosened his hold on the trishul. Advaith gasped like she had only said something shocking rather than struck him through with steel. When the pain finally registered, it flooded his face, transformed his disbelief into an almost childish fear. He scrabbled over her slippery hands in a futile attempt to pull the dagger out.
“Divya,” he whimpered. “Please…”
Above them came a deep laugh.
“You’ve done my job for me. I suppose I should thank you for that.”
There was a blur of silver, and Advaith’s head went flying. Divya stared uncomprehending at the empty spot where his tearstained face had been, blood spurting from the severed neck and onto her face, her chest, her arms.
Bakshi loomed over them, greatsword in one hand. Advaith’s blood coated its curved blade as the asura’s dismembered body fell limply to the ground.
“Still, precautions need to be taken,” Bakshi went on. “It’ll take some time for the halahala to fully spread.”
Divya longed to be numb. To succumb to the relief of unfeeling, to escape to a place where no thought or emotion could touch her. But rage and fear trawled through her bloodstream. She smelled of death, and this man was the reason why.
Ancient impulse took over. The third eye upon her brow opened fully, casting its glare upon Anu Bakshi.
The nazar hit him so forcefully it buffeted him backward. He roared and clutched his bloodied face as a dark miasma swirled around him, seeping into his skin. He shuddered, and when he dropped his hand, his right eye shone black with a red mark burning where his pupil should have been. The symbol for ajna, the third eye, but inauspiciously reversed.
“You are cursed, Anu Bakshi,” she said hoarsely as he lifted his sword and stalked toward her. “For the rest of your days, you will suffer pain and uncertainty and bear the mark of the evil eye so that everyone knows you are destined for the greatest misfortune.”
She laughed.
He sneered down at her, blood dripping off his upper lip, mismatched eyes narrowed with that promised pain. He had conquered a kingdom and been cursed for it, and yet the greatest offense of his life must have been this mere dakini, this mere girl, laughing at him.
He didn’t bother to address her again before he shoved his sword through her chest, shattering bone and cleaving muscle. And though the agony was unlike anything she’d ever felt, she kept laughing, blood pouring from her mouth like the juice of Sutala’s fruit.
Bakshi kicked her off his sword, and she landed in the mud. Her mind caught up to the truth of her shattered body, and the last of her weak laughs turned into wretched gasps. She could barely move, could barely do anything but twitch and turn her head to one side.
Tav lay only a few feet away. The chain mail of his helmet had fallen to reveal half his face. His eyes were partly open, fixed upon her.
His lips moved slightly. Shaping her name.
Divya gritted her teeth and used her braid limb to push herself off the ground. She whined at the searing pain, setting every nerve on fire as she dug her fingertips in the mud to crawl to him.
“Tav,” she whispered, but it was hardly even a sound. Her own heart had quieted from a drumbeat to a murmur.
She lost strength halfway there. She collapsed, one hand held in front of her, reaching for him. Tav tried to move his arm to grasp it, his breaths coming quicker and quicker, the pupil of his visible eye dilating.
Like so many times before, she didn’t know what to do. So she did the only thing she could: She started to hum.
The melody was broken and warbling, scarcely audible, but it reached him nonetheless. Tav held her gaze as their song floated between them, occupying all the spaces they could not, bringing him back to the place that was waiting for them. Harmony, and rest.
He closed his eyes, the lines of his face softening. And then all the tension left his body at once.
For the first time since she’d met him, Divya felt cold.
Her humming scattered like disturbed butterflies. She screamed breathlessly into the mud, writhing against the agony of her body and her heart, and all the parts of her she’d taken for granted. All around them, the ground seeped with the first toxic stirrings of poison. In front of her lay a boy who had deserved better.
And inside her was nothing but frost, rime, snowmelt.
Unable to feel anything beyond the cold, she didn’t know when hands grabbed her and dragged her away. Eventually, a familiar face materialized above her, dripping water onto her chest.
“Divya.” Bina was sobbing, clutching onto her shoulders. “Foolish thing! I told you not to go!”
She couldn’t argue, couldn’t speak. There was no point.
“It— It will be all right,” Bina stammered as Divya’s sight darkened. “I’ll burn this body to release your soul. We will meet again.”
We will meet again.
She thought of sunlight on water, of gently waving lotus blossoms, of a place now beyond her reach that would forever be hers. Even if she looked upon it with a new pair of eyes, it would still be hers.
Theirs.
We will meet again.
* * *
For a while, she was nothing.
She didn’t know for how long, but that wasn’t important. Nothing was important anymore, and she was content with merely floating through the long dark. It was peaceful, even pleasant.
But it couldn’t last forever. She was dimly aware of the flow of water, of murmurs and jewels, and a beautiful face beneath a hood coated in amethyst.
“Divya,” she heard, a familiar voice so full of sorrow it nearly penetrated the shell of her peace. “My girl. I am so sorry.”
Something was placed within hands she no longer had: a cup of black crystal, veined with streaks of red and dark pink. It reminded her of something delicate and beautiful and temporary.
When it was lifted to her lips, liquid flowed through what remained of her. It was strong and fragrant, and with every sip the hint of memory faded and faded, until only a wisp remained.
But something stopped her from taking the last sip. The cup was removed, and the spirit did not fight it.
“We need her to remember,” came the voice the spirit once thought of as familiar but was no longer. “If she is to come back to us. Even if it’s only a little bit.”
“But what if she comes back as a human, or a yaksha? What if she can no longer come home to Patala?”
The spirit regained a fraction of awareness. Two figures, one hooded and one not, shadowy and dim. Between the hooded one’s hands was a small orb of fretful crimson. The other hissed but didn’t stop the hooded figure from approaching the spirit again.
“I am sorry,” the figure whispered before handing over the red orb. The spirit held it as it had held the cup, and it was energy and fire and passion, wild and restless. So completely different from the peaceful journey the spirit had made here.
Yet the spirit allowed it to fuse together with whatever matter it was made of. Already there was a strange pull, as if something, someone, were calling from a distant place.
“We will meet again,” the spirit heard as it let go, back to the darkness of quiet unbeing.
Quiet, that is, until there came the sound of two hearts beating side by side.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kajal’s eyes flew open.
At first, she was still mired in the darkness, the cosmos spanning between her heartbeat and Lasya’s, lined in crimson and cerulean. But she could feel her chest expanding, her lungs a bellows. She could feel her heart pumping, a miracle crafted from blood and tissue.
And she could feel her throat, burning without pain. As if she had swallowed a star, sheltering its glaring warmth underneath her skin. That warmth pervaded her, making pathways of her veins, putting the sun itself to shame.
When her vision cleared, she was aware of two figures leaning over her. Familiar, beloved. She turned first to Lasya, tears drying on her face, focused so intently on sending her energy through Kajal. And Kajal recognized it, the way she could recognize her sister’s walk and voice and scent. It had always been there.
The other…
She turned toward Tav. Remembered holding the core of him within her hands.
Realizing she could move, she reached up and curled one of those hands around the pendant swinging between them.
“Nothing eludes us forever,” she said softly. “Not even death.”
He shut his eyes—not in despair but whatever was its opposite and equal, an understanding that tore, then mended.
“Divya,” he whispered. His touch moved from her throat to the side of her face, searching her features for the signs of one who’d been lost. “I wondered, but…”
Kajal almost laughed. He was always so good at drawing conclusions.
“Not Divya,” she corrected. “Kajal.”
He nodded, but his eyes gleamed with unshed tears, with rekindled hope. She saw in him now the boy he used to be, sweet and shy and smiling, and it made the ache in her chest all the greater.
“I remember her.” His thumb brushed over her cheek. “But not what happened to her. I didn’t know for sure that you…that she…”
For a second, Kajal tasted the forgetting tea on her tongue, clove and anise, the promise of a new beginning.
Tav leaned over her. “How—?”
He was pulled away, and the pendant’s chain snapped between them.
“That was stupid of you,” Advaith growled as he knelt and grabbed a fistful of Kajal’s kurti. “You really think killing yourself is a better alternative to killing the enemy?”
Lasya kept hold of her, and this was partly why Kajal wasn’t afraid. But the other part, the larger part, was because of the memories running rampant through her, the sensory recollection of how it felt to slam her dagger through his chest.
Slowly, with the hand not currently gripping the pendant, she pressed her fingers to that exact spot.
“Did it hurt,” she said, mimicking his own words, “when my blade found you here?”
Confusion darkened his eyes. Then they flashed red as he recoiled in recognition.
“You…?”
Lasya helped Kajal to her feet. “I know Lord Dukha ordered you to fight Tav to make halahala,” Kajal said. “I know Tav refused to lift his blade toward you, which cost him his life.” A humorless grin spread across her face. “And now you want to return to Lord Dukha to finish what you started. Rakshasa dominance, is that it?”
Divya may not have understood, but Kajal did. Lord Dukha wanted to overwhelm the plane of Martya with rakshasas until it fell under his control, then do the same to Svarga. And, unable to make amrita without the yakshas’ celestial loom, the best way for him to create more rakshasas was halahala.
Advaith was too stunned to reply, Tav equally silent behind him. Vivaan and Sezal waited for the asura’s next command while the three humans watched on in bemusement.
Kutaa bumped into Kajal’s side with a whine. She gave him a reassuring scratch behind his ears.
“He told me Patala’s numbers were weak,” Advaith said quietly, more to himself than to her. “That the yakshas would outnumber them. Then Bakshi began his campaign, and somehow Lord Dukha roped him into it.”
“He killed thousands of our people,” Tav seethed. “He killed Baa-Ji. Why would Lord Dukha involve him in this?”
“I…” Advaith put a hand to the sutures around his neck. “I don’t know. He never told me the full plan. Just my part in it.”
Staring at the sutures, Kajal’s mind spun.
Advaith’s faint heartbeat. Punching out of her own coffin in Siphar. She had wondered so often why she had lived and Lasya hadn’t.
The storyteller had said the first asura may have taken a drop of amrita. A hint of immortality. The reason, perhaps, why Advaith could remember everything and Tav and Lasya could not. Why Bakshi—whether under Lord Dukha’s orders or otherwise—had split Advaith’s body into three pieces so he couldn’t revive himself.
Tav and Advaith hadn’t been reincarnated because their bodies hadn’t been burned, their spirits trapped in soil. Instead of fully parting from them, the energies of the asura and the deva had merged into the spirits who would become Kajal and Lasya.
She was too lost within her thoughts to realize Advaith had moved until he spoke.
“We won’t get answers until we return to Patala,” he said firmly. He stood again on the crest’s edge, surveying the encampment. “These soldiers are using halahala as an excuse to tear our country apart. I won’t let them.”
He held out his hands, and they lit up crimson.
Tav started forward, but Vivaan blocked him. Kajal tried as well but found her and Lasya’s way impeded by Sezal.
