17
Spirit Gate
I shivered and yanked my Gore-Tex gloves a little higher on my wrists. We’d hiked up the mountain most of the first day and set up camp near some rocks that blocked the wind. When we stopped, I gratefully shrugged off my backpack and stretched.
I searched the area for a while, gathering wood to start a fire. After a hot dinner, thanks to the Golden Fruit, I snuggled deep in my king-sized sleeping bag fully clothed.
Kishan nudged his head into the opening and crawled in after me. It was awkward at first, but after an hour I felt extremely grateful for the warm fur that stopped my shivering. I was so exhausted that, despite the noise of the wind, I was able to sleep.
The next morning, I used the Golden Fruit to wish up warm oatmeal with maple syrup and brown sugar and some steaming hot chocolate for breakfast. Kishan wanted to stay in tiger form to keep warm, so I gave him the option of a large platter full of rare venison steaks or a giant dish of the same oatmeal I ate and a large bowl of milk. He started with the meat but finished off the oatmeal and milk too, lapping it up quickly. I rolled up our belongings and stowed them in the bag before we set off on our journey again.
We settled into a routine for the next four days. Kishan led the way, I supplied meals via the Golden Fruit and built the fires, and then we slept snuggled together, tiger and human, in the large sleeping bag at night while the wind howled around us. The upward climb was challenging. If I hadn’t been working out with Kishan and Mr. Kadam, I wouldn’t have been prepared for it.
The ascent wasn’t bad enough that I would need climbing gear, but it was no stroll through the park either. Breathing was harder the higher we went because there was less oxygen, so we stopped frequently to drink and rested often.
We hit the snow line on the fifth day. Even in the summer, there was snow on Mount Everest. Kishan was easy to see now, even from a distance. A black animal on the white snow drifts did not go undetected. He was lucky he was probably one of the biggest animals out here. If he were smaller, we’d be hunted by predators.
I wonder if polar bears live here? No, polar bears live at the poles. Hmm, maybe there are other bears out here, or possibly mountain lions. Sasquatch? The Yeti? What was the snow monster in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer called? Ah, the Bumble. I giggled as I imagined a puppet-like Kishan attacking the Bumble and hummed the “Misfit” song from the movie.
I followed Kishan’s tiger tracks and started keeping an eye out for animal footprints. When I spied small animal tracks in the snow, I tried to figure out what they could be. Some were obviously birds, but others I thought might be rabbits or small rodents. Not seeing anything bigger and becoming bored with my game, I relaxed and let my mind drift as I followed Kishan.
The trees were becoming sparse and the terrain rocky. The snow drifts were deep, and it became increasingly difficult to breathe. I started to get nervous. I didn’t really think it would take us this long to find the spirit gate.
Day seven was when we ran into the bear.
Kishan had taken off about a half hour before to search for wood and a likely place for us to camp. I was to follow his tracks and he’d circle back and sniff me out. He was actually due back soon as he never left me for longer than thirty minutes at a time.
I was trudging slowly along, stepping in his tiger prints, when I heard a rumbling bellow behind me. I figured Kishan had circled around and was trying to get my attention. I turned and stopped in my tracks, gasping in horror. A large brown bear was galloping toward me in attack mode. Its round ears were laid back against its head. Its mouth hung open revealing sharp teeth, and it was coming at me fast. It ran faster than I could.
I screamed.
The bear came to a stop five feet away, stood on its hind legs, and bawled at me again, swiping the air with its paws. Its shaggy fur was wet with snow. Tiny black eyes watched me over a long snout as it assessed my ability to fight back. The skin around the mouth pulled back as its jaw quivered, baring an impressive display of teeth that could rip me to shreds.
I quickly dropped to the ground remembering a story about mountain men surviving in the wilderness. I’d heard that the best thing to do during a bear attack is to lie on the ground, fold yourself into the fetal position, and pretend you’re dead.
I rolled into a ball and covered my head with my hands. The bear dropped down on all fours and bounced up and down a bit, its paws crunching in the snow as it tried to incite me to move so it could attack. It swiped at my back, and I heard the fabric rip as it hit the backpack, tearing the outer compartment.
Being this close to the bear, I could smell its fur, which carried odors of wet grass, dirt, and lake water. Its warm breath smelled slightly fishy. I whimpered and rolled a little. The bear bit the backpack and pressed its foreleg on the back of my thigh to hold me still. The pressure was intense. I was sure my thigh bone was going to break.
It probably would have if I was on bare ground. Lucky for me, the weight of the bear’s leg just pushed me deeper into the snow. I didn’t know if it was defending its territory or if it wanted to eat me for lunch. Either way, I’d be dead soon.
Just then, I heard Kishan’s roar. The bear looked up and hollered back, defending its dinner. It turned to face the tiger and raked its claws down the back of my thigh on one leg and across the calf of my other. I gasped in pain as Freddy Krueger claws with about six hundred pounds behind them sliced open the back of my thigh and calf. But, the good news was that the bear hadn’t really intended to claw me. This was a love tap. Just a—hey, I’ll be right back, honey. I’ve just got take care of the intruder first before I eat you, but I’ll be back before you know it—kind of injury.
My legs burned with fiery pain, and tears rolled down my cheeks, but I stayed as quiet as I could. Kishan circled the animal for a moment then rushed in to attack. The tiger bit the bear’s foreleg while the bear clawed at his back. The fighting beasts moved off enough that I chanced a peek at my legs. I couldn’t really twist my head enough to see the wounds, but great drops of carmine blood reddened the snowdrift creating a macabre snow cone.
The bear stood on its hind legs and bellowed. Then it dropped to all fours, ran a couple of steps closer, and reared on its hind legs again. Kishan paced in a semicircle out of the bear’s reach. The bear thrust its front paws out toward Kishan two or three times as if trying to scare him off.
Kishan moved closer, and the bear charged. Kishan met the bear standing on his hind legs. As they collided, the bear wrapped its arms around Kishan’s body, tearing at his back, giving me a new perspective on the term “bear hug.” They slashed at each other in a fury of teeth and claws. The bear bit Kishan’s ear viciously and almost tore it off. Kishan twisted his head away, causing them to both lose balance. The animals fell and rolled a few times, a jumble of black on brown fur.
I recovered my senses enough to realize that I had a weapon of my own. What an idiot I was. Some kind of fighter I turned out to be. Kishan was circling around the animal now trying to confuse it and tire it out. I took advantage of the distance between them, raised my hand, and hit the bear right on the nose with a small lightning jolt. It was not enough to wound the bear, but enough to turn it away from its potential dinner. It ambled off at a fast pace, bellowing in pain and frustration.
Kishan changed to a man quickly and began to assess my leg injuries. He slid the backpack off my shoulders and donned his winter gear in a few seconds. Then he bent over my legs. The blood was already freezing in the snow. He tore a T-shirt in half and wrapped the pieces tightly around my thigh and calf.
“I’m sorry if this hurts. I have to move you. The scent of your blood could bring the bear back.”
He bent over me and picked me up carefully in his arms. Despite his tenderness, my legs burned. I cried out and couldn’t help squirming to try to relieve the pain. I pressed my face against his chest and gritted my teeth. Then I became oblivious to everything.
I wasn’t sure if I had been sleeping or if I had passed out. It didn’t really matter which. I woke up on my stomach next to a warm fire with Kishan carefully examining my wounds. He’d ripped up another shirt and was carefully cleaning my legs with some kind of smelly hot liquid he had summoned via the Golden Fruit.
I sucked in a breath. “It stings! What is that stuff?”
“It’s an herbal remedy to stop pain and infection and to help your blood clot.”
“It doesn’t smell very good. What’s in it?”
“Cinnamon, echinacea, garlic, goldenseal, yarrow, and some other things I don’t know the English words for.”
“It hurts!”
“I imagine it does. You need stitches.”
I sucked in a breath and began asking him questions to take my mind off the pain. I gasped as he cleaned my calf. “How did you . . . know how to make it?”
“I’ve fought in many battles. I know a little bit about how to take care of wounds like this. The pain should lessen soon, Kells.”
“You’ve treated wounds before?” I sucked in a breath.
“Yes.”
I whimpered. “Will you . . . tell me about it? It will help me focus on something else.”
“Alright.” He dipped his cloth and started working on my calf. “Kadam took me out with a group of his elite infantry to stop some bandits.”
“Were they like Robin Hood types?”
“Who is Robin Hood?”
“He steals from the rich to give to the poor.”
“No. They were murderers. They robbed caravans, raped women, and then killed everyone. They had become notorious in a certain area where trading happened often. Their riches attracted many to join their group, and their large numbers caused great concern. I was being trained in military theory and was learning how to strategize and engage in guerilla warfare from Kadam.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I groaned. “Please go on.”
“We had a large group of them holed up in some caves and were trying to figure out a way to flush them out when we were attacked. They’d built a secret exit into their hideout and had circled around us, quietly taking out our sentries. Our men fought bravely and overcame the rabble, but several of our best soldiers had been killed and many gravely wounded. My arm had been dislocated, but Kadam popped it back in for me, and we helped as many as we could.
“That’s when I learned battle triage. Those of us who were able followed the surgeon and helped him tend to the wounds of the soldiers. He taught me a bit about plants and their healing properties. My mother also was something of an herbalist and had a greenhouse full of plants, several of which were used in medicines. After that, whenever I went into battle, I carried a medicinal bag with me to give aid where I could.”
“It feels a little bit better now. The throbbing is less. What about you? Are your wounds painful?”
“I’ve healed already.”
“That’s really not fair,” I remarked jealously.
He responded softly, “I’d trade places with you if I could, Kells,” and continued his ablutions carefully, wrapping the thigh and calf in thin strips of cloth and then securing them with ace bandages that Mr. Kadam had included in our first aid kit. Kishan gave me two aspirin tablets and angled my head to help me drink.
“I’ve stopped the bleeding. Only one of the wounds is deep enough to make me worry. We’ll rest tonight and start back tomorrow. I’ll have to carry you, Kells. I don’t think you can walk. Your wounds might break open and begin to bleed again.”
“But, Kishan—”
“Don’t worry about it now. Rest for a while, and we’ll see how you feel in the morning.”
I stretched out a hand and placed it over his. “Kishan?”
He turned his golden eyes to my face and scrutinized it, assessing for pain, “Yes?”
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
He squeezed my hand. “I only wish I could do more. Get some sleep.”
I dozed on and off, waking as Kishan put more wood on the fire. I wasn’t sure how he found wood that was dry enough to burn, but I didn’t care enough to ask. He placed the pan of liquid he’d bathed my wounds with near the flames to keep it warm. I was snug in my sleeping bag lying on my stomach, and through a languid daze, I watched the flames lick the bottom of the pot. The herbal smell of the hot liquid suffused the air, and I drifted in and out.
At some point, I must have slept because I dreamed of Ren. He was lashed to a post with his hands tied over his head. I stood against a wall behind another post where Lokesh couldn’t see me. He spoke in another language and tapped a whip against his hand. Ren opened his eyes and saw me. He didn’t move a limb or twitch a muscle, but his eyes stirred. They brightened, and tiny, crinkly lines appeared on the sides. I smiled at him and took a step toward him. He shook his head slightly. I heard the crack of the whip and froze.
Ren gasped in pain. I burst from my hiding place, screaming, and attacked a surprised Lokesh. I grabbed the whip, but I couldn’t tear it from his grasp. He was extremely strong. It was as futile a gesture as a bird attacking a tree. I thrashed and struggled and saw the unmitigated thrill of delight as he recognized me.
Fevered excitement reached his glittering black eyes. He grabbed my hands and twisted them together above my head, then brought his whip down across the back of my legs three times. I cried out in pain. A roar behind me stole his attention. I grabbed his shirt and raked my fingernails across his throat and chest. He shook me.
“Kelsey. Kelsey! Wake up!”
I woke with a start. “Kishan?”
“You were dreaming again.”
He was zipped into the sleeping bag with me. He gently pried my fingers from his shirt.
I looked at his chest and throat and saw vicious, bloody scratches. I touched one gently. “Oh, Kishan. I’m so sorry. Does it hurt badly?”
“It’s okay. They’re healing as we speak.”
“I didn’t mean to. I was dreaming of Lokesh again. I . . . I don’t want to go back, Kishan. I want to keep moving, keep looking for the spirit gate. Ren is suffering. I know it.”
To my great dismay, I started weeping. I wept partly because of the pain in my legs, partly because of the stress of the journey, but the biggest reason I wept was because I knew that Ren was hurting. Kishan shifted and wrapped his arms around me.
“Shh, Kelsey. It’s going to be alright.”
“You don’t know that. Lokesh may kill him before we find the stupid spirit gate.” I cried while Kishan rubbed my back.
“Remember Durga said she’d watch over him. Don’t forget about that.”
I sobbed. “I know but—”
“Your safety is more important than the quest, and Ren would agree with that.”
I laughed wetly. “He probably would, but—”
“No buts. We need to head back, Kells. Once you heal, we can come back and try again. Agreed?”
“I guess so.”
“Good. Ren is . . . lucky to hold the heart of a woman such as you, Kelsey.”
I turned on my side to look at him. The fire was still going, and I watched the flames dance in his troubled, golden eyes.
I touched his now healed neck and said softly, “And I’m lucky to have such wonderful men in my life.”
He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss on my fingers. “He wouldn’t want you to suffer for him, you know.”
“He wouldn’t like you being the one to comfort me, either.”
He grinned at that. “No. Indeed he wouldn’t.”
“But you do. Comfort me, I mean. Thank you for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Get some sleep, bilauta.”
He pulled me close and nestled me against his chest. I felt guilty for feeling comforted lying in Kishan’s arms, but I fell asleep quickly without further incident.
The next two days of travel were short by necessity. I tried to walk on my own, but the pain was too much so Kishan carried me. We walked back down the mountain slowly, stopping to rest from time to time, saving the last hour for Kishan to set up camp and tend to me. Most of my wounds were healing, but the deep one had started to fester.
The skin around it became ruddy, swollen, and inflamed. The wound was obviously getting worse. I began running a fever, and Kishan started to feel desperate. He cursed the fact that he could only travel with me for six hours of the day. He used every herbal remedy he could think of. Unfortunately, the Golden Fruit could not produce antibiotics.
A storm hit, and I was vaguely aware of Kishan carrying me through icy sleet. Not moving on my own made me more susceptible to the cold. I was freezing and drifted in and out, unaware of how many days had passed. At one point, the thought occurred to me that Fanindra might heal me as she did in Kishkindha, but she remained stiff and frozen. I knew the weather wasn’t exactly snake friendly, but, perhaps she knew I wasn’t quite at death’s door yet either, despite all outward appearances.
We became lost in the storm, not knowing if we were going back to Mr. Kadam or forward to the spirit gate. Kishan was constantly worried about me falling asleep, so he talked to me as we walked. I didn’t remember much of what he said. He did lecture me about survival in the wilderness and said that it was important that we stay warm, eat, and keep hydrated. He had those three things pretty much covered. When we stopped for the day, he would wrap me in the sleeping bag and crawl in next to me so his tiger body could keep me warm, and the Golden Fruit provided as much food and drink as we could handle.
I lost my appetite when I became sick. Kishan forced me to eat and drink, but I was shaky, and the fever made me feel like I was either freezing or too hot. He had to change to a man often to keep me covered with the sleeping bag because, in my fever, I constantly tried to push it off.
I was weak now and spent my time either staring at the sky or at Kishan’s face as he spoke of various things. Bushman’s rice was one topic I remembered because it was disgusting. He talked about how he had managed to live when he’d been the only survivor of a battle deep in enemy territory. He said that there was no food to be found, so he ate Bushman’s rice, which was not rice at all but the white pupae of termites.
I grunted softly in reaction but was too sleepy to move my lips to form a comment. I wanted to ask him how he learned about Australian Bushmen back in his time, but I couldn’t speak. He looked down at me worried and drew my hood closer over my face so the snow wouldn’t fall directly on me.
He leaned over and whispered, “I promise I’ll get you out of this, Kelsey. I won’t let you die.”
Die? Who said anything about dying? I had no intention of dying, but I couldn’t exactly tell him that. My lips felt like they were frozen. I can’t die. I have to find the next three items and save my tigers. I have to rescue Ren from Lokesh. I have to finish school. I have to . . . I fell asleep.
I dreamed of tracing my finger down an icy window. I had just made a heart with a Ren + Kelsey in the middle and had drawn a second heart with Kishan + . . . when someone shook me awake.
“Kells. Kells! I thought we had turned back, but I think we found the spirit gate!”
I peeked out of my hood and looked up at an amethyst-gray sky. Painful, icy sleet pummeled us, and I had to squint to see what Kishan was pointing at. In the middle of a barren white stretch of snow stood two wooden posts about the size of telephone phones. Wrapped around each one were long ropes of material that flapped wildly in the storm like homemade kite tails. A line of colorful flags were attached at different sections of the posts. Some of the ropes were tied to the opposite pole. Some were attached to rings in the ground, and others just flapped loose in the wind.
I licked my lips and whispered, “Are you sure?”
Fortunately, his tiger hearing was extremely good. He bent over close to my ear and shouted over the wind, “It could be a monument or a memorial created by nomads, but there’s just something different about this. I want to check it out.”
I nodded weakly, and he set me down in the sleeping bag near one of the poles. He’d taken to carrying me in the sleeping bag to keep me warmer. I slipped into a deep sleep. When he woke me, I wasn’t sure if it had been hours or seconds.
“This is the right place, Kelsey. I found a handprint. Now, should we go through it or turn back? I feel we should turn back and return later.”
I reached a gloved hand out and touched his chest. I whispered, feeling the wind gobble up my words and tear them away just as they passed my lips. Fortunately, he heard them. I said, “No . . . we won’t be able . . . find it . . . again . . . too hard. Ocean Teacher said . . . prove our . . . f . . . faith. It’s . . . a test. We . . . must . . . tr . . . try.”
“But, Kells—”
“Take me . . . the . . . handprint.”
He looked at me with indecision battling in his eyes. Gently, he stretched out his gloved hand and brushed the snowflakes from my cheek.
I caught his hand in mine. “Have faith,” I whispered into the wind.
He sighed deeply, then slid his arms under me and carried me to the wooden post. “Here it is. On the left of the pole, under the blue fabric.”
I saw it and tried to get my glove off. Kishan stood me up, supporting all my weight on one arm. He pulled off my glove with the other hand and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he guided my hand into the cold depression carved into the bark of the wooden marker. Now that I was closer, I could see intricate carvings all over the wood that had been partially covered by the snow. If I’d felt better, I would have loved to examine them, but I couldn’t even stay upright without Kishan.
I kept my hand pressed against the wood but nothing happened. I tried to summon the fire in my belly, the spark that made my hand glow, but I felt deadened.
“Kishan . . . I . . . c . . . can’t. I’m too . . . c . . . cold.” I felt like crying.
He took off his gloves, unzipped his jacket, tore his shirt underneath, and put my frozen hand against his bare chest, covering the back of it with his own warm hand. His chest was hot. He pressed his warm cheek against my cold one and rubbed the back of my hand with his palm for a few minutes. He spoke, but I didn’t understand his words. He shifted to protect me from the wind, and I almost fell asleep as he held me in the warm cocoon he’d created. Finally, he pulled back a little and said, “There, that’s better. Now, try again.”
He helped me angle my hand. I felt a small spark of tingly warmth and urged it to build. The power was slow and lethargic, but it did build until the handprint glowed. The pole shook and began to glow too. Something happened to my eyes. A green sheen fell across my vision like I’d put on a pair of green-tinted sunglasses. It made the glow from my hand look bright orange, and the orange traveled from one pole across the fabric tail to the other pole.
The ground shook, and we were enveloped in a bubble of warmth. Too weak to continue, my hand slipped out, and I fell back against Kishan, who scooped me up in his arms again. A little bubble of static formed between the two poles and grew larger. Colors shifted inside the bubble, which were too vague and fuzzy to make out at first, but they grew bigger and started to come into focus. I heard a boom, and the picture snapped into place.
I saw green grass and a warm yellow sun. Herds of animals grazed lazily beneath leafy summer trees. Where we stood I could smell the scent of flowers and feel the sun warm my face, yet the wintry sleet still fell across my cheek. Kishan took a step forward, and another. He carried me into the warm paradise. My head lolled against his arm as I listened to the sound of the storm fade. The cold air grew more distant and then left with a pop. That’s when I fainted.