Chapter 21
The Last Gift
We didn’t speak much at first. I was content to leave Ana alone now that she was safe. She’d been through a terrible ordeal, and I wanted her to begin healing from it both mentally and physically. Every so often, I stopped to rest the horse and gave Ana a chance to stretch. She was more accustomed to being on horseback than someone like Kelsey would have been, but I wanted to make her as comfortable as possible.
When we made camp, she gathered wood for me, and I made a bed for her using the blanket the woman had given us. We ate in silence and I tethered the horse to a tree that had plenty of grass beneath it for grazing. When I returned from a small creek with full canteens, I found Ana had pillowed her head on the saddle, stuck her hand beneath her cheek, and quickly fallen asleep. My heart pinched when I saw that she slept in the same loose way she did at home. The backs of my eyes stung. I missed her. Even with the younger version of her at my side, I found I longed for the company of the woman.
When I was a tiger, living in the jungle of India, being alone didn’t bother me. At least, that’s what I’d convinced myself. I’d been so wrapped up in my grief that I didn’t allow myself to reach out for what I wanted the most. It wasn’t until Kadam came for me that I realized how much I wanted to be a part of something again.
I yearned for family. To have a home. To surround myself with people who loved me. For a long time, I thought Kelsey would be that family. In a way, I guess she was. But seeing her with Ren confirmed my deepest doubts. Kelsey didn’t need me like I needed her. She had my brother. She had a home and a life that I could no longer be a part of. At least not in the way I’d hoped.
Taking a seat nearby, I pulled the truth stone in my lap, looking at the girl who was depending on me. If I was going to save her, I had to figure out what to do next. “What can I offer her?” I murmured to it softly. “How can I pull my Ana out from this timeline?” The stone remained cold and dark. If there was an answer, either the stone didn’t know or couldn’t help me.
Every time we’d made an offering to the goddess before, we’d had a bell and I’d switched into tiger form. I couldn’t do that here and there wasn’t a bell among our meager possessions. Despite this, I set down a piece of fruit, a feather I’d found, a flask of water, and a warm coal from the fire. I thought by offering something to represent each element, I’d cover all my bases. Then I knelt beside her and bowed my head, touching it to the ground at her feet.
“Mighty Goddess,” I said, “I…I miss you. Please heed the summons of Damon, your tiger, and come back to me.”
Aside from a fiery spark that popped and flew up into the night sky, nothing happened. I tried again, mixing up my words, attempting to replicate the things I’d heard Kelsey say, but again there was no response. I even tried to make the trilling sound of a bell by pursing my lips, but then I just felt like a fool.
Eventually, I gave up and just lay down, resting my head on my hands as I looked up into the stars. “Tell me what to do,” I mumbled to the sky but the cold stars didn’t whisper back.
The next morning Ana stretched and handed me the saddle. It smelled of leather and oil and a muted, to my nose, version of her natural jasmine scent. As I secured the truth stone on the side of the horse, she asked hesitantly, “Will you teach me to use the knife? I want to be able to help you fight if someone comes for us.”
I froze for an instant, my hands against the saddle. “I…I can,” I said, clearing my throat and adjusting the reins without looking at her. “But first, you’ll have to learn how to take care of it.”
“I can do that,” she answered.
Turning, I studied her face and then gave her a brief nod. “We’ll begin our lessons when we rest the horse in the heat of the day.”
So began our training.
Anamika had a bright mind and she learned quickly. Once I taught her how to find just the right stone and sharpen her knife on its surface, she immediately set about working on it. Every ten minutes she’d hand it to me for inspection and I’d point out the places she’d missed. When she finished with her knife, she began working on the old sword. It was far too heavy for her to carry around but I let her tend to it regardless.
I wanted her to feel a sense of control. Being responsible for and taking care of my weapons was the first lesson Kadam had ever taught me, so that’s where I began. During the hours I spent with her on horseback, I talked about philosophy of battle, shared examples of wars I’d fought in and the reasons for them, and talked about the many times I’d had to learn things the hard way.
When I said that a man could hone his body and mind just as he did his weapons, she asked, “Can a woman do that as well?”
“Of course,” I replied. “A mind must be regularly sharpened just like a knife. To do this you must continually challenge yourself. It does not matter that you are female. I’ve often found that women naturally outthink men. Just remember that your mind is the most powerful weapon at your disposal. A brilliant idea can destroy an army. I’ve seen it happen.”
During the afternoons and evenings, I trained her in how to attack an enemy unawares, taught her how to evade physical attacks from enemies much larger than herself, and gave her mental puzzles to solve. She was bright and solved Kadam’s riddles much faster than I ever had.
After she fell asleep each night, I tried to summon the goddess again. Each attempt I made failed. Time was running out and I was beginning to feel desperate. Why hadn’t Kadam just told me what to offer? It didn’t make sense. I’d tried gifting her with small lizards and mice but they just wandered off. I found bird eggs and a garter snake but nothing I did was productive.
As we rode, I’d often stop to collect interesting things—a pretty leaf, a perfectly round stone, a flower—nothing worked. Anamika asked what I was doing, and when I said I was trying to gain the favor of a goddess, she began to help me look out for items of interest. Even with help from the young goddess herself, my efforts continued to be fruitless. When we met up with a lone trader, we gave him some of our rations in exchange for a colorful bit of cloth that reminded me of the Divine Scarf.
Although the cloth didn’t work, Ana appreciated the gift all the same. She wound the fabric around her hair or as a veil to shield herself from the blazing sun as we rode. Sensing my depression over my failed quest, she often asked me to tell her more stories of the tiger, and I readily acquiesced, regaling her with tales of our adventures, often making myself out to be the hero though she didn’t know it.
She especially loved the one with the tiger battling a great bear in the snow to save the life of a beautiful girl. I might have exaggerated the proportions of the bear, but she didn’t need to know that. Nor did she ask how a tiger was able to carry a girl down the mountain.
When we were quiet, I thought about what it would mean if I couldn’t accomplish my task. At least Ana was safe now. She’d grow up with Sunil. The older Ana obviously loved her brother. At least, in this time, she’d have him. He wouldn’t leave her if she never took on the role of the goddess. As for me, I could stay with her family. Maybe they’d take me in if I worked for them. I rubbed my stubbled jaw. I could do what Kadam did and train soldiers. I rationalized that there were worse things that could happen to us than being stuck with her in the past.
It wasn’t the future I’d envisioned for myself, and yes, the world would have to survive without the help of the goddess, but at least Ana was going home to people who loved her. That had become more important to me than anything else.
Kadam’s warnings still pricked on the back of my mind, but there was nothing else I could do but what I was already doing. I knew my mentor couldn’t ask me for more than that, and the ramifications of my failure were something I put far away from my conscious mind. As the days passed, Ana became all I cared about. All I focused on.
“Darkness can shield you,” I said one night as she poked a stick into the fire after we’d finished our training. “Do you remember the tiger that attacked us?”
She nodded.
“Tigers use the grass and brush to hide. Their coats blend into their surroundings. Invisibility is the best weapon they have. You might think it is their teeth or their claws. Those are indeed powerful, but the animals they hunt are fast. Stealth is very important to a tiger’s survival. Use this to your advantage.”
Ana wrinkled her brows in puzzlement. “You want me to dress like a tiger, Kishan?”
“No,” I answered. I’d pondered using a different name around her, but I figured if we were stuck in the past, it wouldn’t matter, and if I somehow did manage to summon the goddess, we could take away young Ana’s memories of me just like Anamika had wiped herself from my mind all those years ago. Getting back to her question, I answered, “My point is to use your outward appearance to fool others into assuming less. It would be like hiding in plain sight.”
“I don’t understand.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “You are a beautiful woman…girl, I mean. No one would assume you are also a good fighter. All they will see is what’s on the outside. Men are especially guilty of this. They let their guard down because they can’t imagine a woman will best them. That will be the time for you to strike.”
She nodded stridently and then her expression warmed into something sweet and saccharine. She blinked her eyes rapidly and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “You mean like this?” she asked, her eyes gleaming in the firelight.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, exactly.” Reaching over, I tugged on her braid. “No one would expect someone as adorable as you to have a knife stuck up her sleeve.”
Ana’s face fell. “I wish I’d had a knife when I was taken.”
“I do too.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered though. They probably would have searched me and seized it.”
“They might have.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Kishan?”
“Yes?”
“Do you…do you think my father will take me back into his home?”
“He will,” I assured her quickly as I added another piece of wood to the fire.
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s a good man. A wise man. Those who are sensible do not blame a person, especially one as young as you, for the failings of others.”
“But no man will take me as a wife now.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that wasn’t true, but I knew the time she lived in. I also knew that Anamika was not married in the future.
“Do you wish to be a wife?” I asked.
“Not if he does to me what that man did.”
“A man who loves you will not hurt you in such a way.” I sat back against a log, crossing my legs at the ankles. She sat back as well, imitating my pose. “My mentor once told me that a villain can hurt your mind and your body. He can take away the things that are most precious to you. But he cannot diminish who you are. Your heart, your soul belong to you, Anamika.
“You may give it to a worthy man to hold, but you decide who that privileged man may be, and if he abuses the gift, you simply take it back. No one—not a stranger, not your father, and assuredly not this man who hurt you—can force you to give away that special piece of yourself. Love is a gift. When, or if, you choose to marry, the man you select will fall at your feet and worship you like a goddess.”
She snorted at that and pressed her hand over her mouth to control the giggles. “They will not,” Ana laughed.
I smiled. “I assure you, I speak utter truth. When a man truly loves a woman, he will cherish her all of his days and he will sacrifice anything for her happiness.”
We stared at the fire and I picked up the truth stone, cradling it in my hands.
“It’s like that story you told us about the tiger,” she said. “He loved the girl so much he gave up everything to be with her. He even defied the gods to do so. That’s how he got his wings.”
“Yes,” I said, the corner of my mouth turned up in a teasing way. “Sometimes even a tiger can find love.”
“Can I…can I go with you if my father won’t take me back?”
“Oh, Ana,” I said softly and blew out a breath. “Yes. If it will comfort your mind, I promise to stay with you as long as you have need of me.”
“Thank you,” she said.
That night I tried to summon my version of Ana again and a breeze rose that blew my peacock feather away. I inhaled deeply and studied the sky. A storm was coming. Even without my tiger nose, I could smell the rain. Within the span of three hours, it hit. I’d wanted to let her sleep for as long as possible, but when stinging raindrops hit the fire, making it sizzle, and peppered the stones around us, bringing with them a sweet, damp smell, I woke her.
I didn’t know what lay ahead of us, but I remembered we’d passed an area with an outcropping of stone a few hours back. Placing her before me in the saddle, I told her to try to sleep as I made my way back to that shelter. The tracks we’d made before quickly disappeared in the rain. I shielded her from it as best I could, but the downpour was wind-whipped and as brutal as a hammer on an anvil.
Our clothing was quickly soaked and rain dripped down my neck and off the tip of my nose. It was cold too. The biting wind screamed shrilly as it sped past us. After the third hour on horseback, I knew we’d missed the outcropping I’d been searching for. I placed my hand on the truth stone and asked it for guidance or wisdom, and as if sensing our desperation, it showed me a path off to my left. I took it and we soon came upon a cave.
I ducked inside, hoping there wasn’t a tiger or any other predator hiding in the dark recesses, and found it empty. Heading back to Ana, I wrapped my arms around her shivering form. She was leaning over the horse in an effort to shield her face from the rain. “Come on,” I said, raising my voice over the noise of the wind. “We’ll sit out the storm in here.”
After she was safely inside, I removed the saddle and our packs and tied the horse to a nearby tree. There was barely enough room for two people, let alone a horse, and though he whinnied in protest, I knew he’d be safe enough outside. I squeezed the rainwater out of my clothes, removed my shirt, and hung it over a rock. There were only two pieces of dry wood inside the cave, so I started a tiny fire and we sat in front of it to dry off as best we could.
She shivered, and the heat coming off the little fire wasn’t enough to cook a marshmallow, let alone warm a cold little girl. Lightning struck outside and the horse whickered loudly. I heard the roar of water and my breath caught as I considered the previously parched ground. Is it possible we wandered into a flash-flood zone?
The storm was a wild one. As Ana slept, her thin arms wrapped around herself, I stared out at the roiling sky. I didn’t try to summon the goddess that night. The fire burned itself out quickly, and with no dry wood to feed it, I lifted Ana in my arms and sat down, my back pressed against the stone, with her cradled against me. She didn’t wake, which was probably for the best. I didn’t want to frighten her further after what she’d been through.
If I still had my ability to shift, the tiger could have easily kept her warm, but my human body shook with cold. Still, keeping her close was the best I could do. I fell into a fitful sleep and woke groggily to the song of a bird outside.
The pewter dawn was still cloud-covered and drizzly but at least the wind had died down. The rain fell in a thin, rhythmic monotony that might be bearable, if still uncomfortable, on horseback. It wasn’t until I turned my attention to the warmth on my chest that I realized something was wrong.
“Ana?” I shook her lightly but when she opened her eyes, they were unfocused. She quickly closed them again, groaned softly, and tried to speak but her voice slurred. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Jostling her more forcefully and getting no response, I cradled her face in my hands and felt the fiery heat of fever.
Now desperate, I carefully set her down and rummaged through our bags for a flagon of water. I pressed it to her lips but the drops trickled down her throat and wet her still-damp shirt. “Ana,” I said again, this time more forcefully. “Ana, what’s wrong?”
It was a stupid question. What wasn’t wrong with her situation? She’d been forced from her home, starved, abused, and I’d been careless enough to get us caught in a freak rainstorm without shelter. What should have surprised me was how well she’d done so far. I’d carelessly lost my firefruit juice. Kadam had said to be careful with it, but did I listen? Of course not.
Then I remembered the truth stone. It had somehow healed me. Or at least I thought it had. I was fairly certain I didn’t actually go to the fire forest in my dream. I dug it out of the bag and placed Ana’s hand on top of it. “Will you heal her please?” I asked it. “She needs you.”
The phoenix egg remained dark though the little pulse inside fluttered. I waited for one minute and then another. Nothing was happening as far as I could tell. Rubbing my hand over the sleek surface of the stone, I said, “If you can’t heal her, then give me wisdom. Tell me what to do.”
As I waited for an answer or a vision, I smoothed the hair back from Ana’s face. Her dark lashes looked like little crescent moons on her cheeks. Her hot skin burned with fever and there was nothing I could do to bring it down. I didn’t have any of Kelsey’s medicine. The only magical object I possessed was the truth stone, and though it flickered, it wasn’t helping. I didn’t want to risk leaving her side to scout for herbs or plants that would help break her fever and doubted I’d find what I needed anyway.
Taking her swatch of fabric, I bathed her face and sat by her side. Pressing a cool cloth to her neck and arms, I talked to her. When she groaned and thrashed, I held her close, trying to soothe her, and when she lay still, her breathing becoming more shallow, I massaged her hands and begged her to get well.
I kept her as hydrated as I could and cursed the fact that we had no modern hospital where I could take her. Perhaps she’d been bitten by a mosquito carrying disease. Maybe her illness was a result of the storm or something left over from her abuse. Whatever it was, it ravaged her young body. She was dying and there was nothing I could do about it except watch.
One day passed and then a second and a third. Sensing her strength waning with each passing hour, I squeezed the juice from the last few fruits and urged her to drink. Coaxing damp wood to light, I made a broth from the dried meat but she couldn’t keep it down.
I kept the truth stone next to her and spoke to it often, coaxing, begging, threatening, and cursing it. Desperate, I placed her hands on top of the stone so it was pressed against her chest like a doll might have been, and cried, “It’s yours now, Ana. Take it! Let the power of it fill you. Heal you. Please.” Her limp hands fell away so I picked them up and placed mine on top. “The phoenix burned Kelsey,” I murmured, “but it brought her back. Do the same for Ana,” I pleaded to the stone. “You must. Her heart is worthy.”
The flaming heart inside the stone remained mute. I stared into it for hours, polishing it to a shine, hoping the magic inside it would work. Hours later, to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied, I combed out Ana’s hair, braided and retied it. I told her story after story in a lively voice, hoping it would rouse her. On the fourth morning, I knew she was getting close to the end. There was so much I hadn’t told her, so much I’d held back.
I let it all out—apologizing for my stiff-necked pride and my surly attitude when I’d been left behind. Rubbing my thumb over her fingers, I told her about all my forsaken dreams and hopes. Speaking of the battles we’d fought together, I whispered words of admiration and respect and said she was the most amazing creature I’d ever beheld.
As her shallow breaths grew further apart, I clutched her hand to my cheek and cried with all the feeling my younger heart had held for her. Then I kissed each of her fingers and sobbed for the experiences I’d never to get to have with her. Without Ana, there was nothing left for me. I’d failed her. I’d failed the entire world. “What am I going to do without you?” I whispered.
When she let out a final breath, her little chest rising and falling for the last time, something in me broke. It was over. I’d failed. The goddess would never be born. Never save anyone. Ren and Kelsey would never meet. Everything and everyone I knew was gone. I was alone.
Terribly. Utterly. Alone.
Reaching up to my neck, I yanked the Damon Amulet hard enough to break the leather tie and rubbed my thumb over the tiger. Gently, I set it on Ana’s chest and folded her small hands across it so that the medallion peeked out from between her fingers.
Emotionally drained, I ran a hand over my still-damp eyes and through my hair. I’d have to bury her. Though I knew I needed to do something, my body wouldn’t move. How could I put her in the ground? Cover such a beautiful face with gravel and dirt?
Sinking my face into my hands, I gave myself over to sobs, and such was the depth of my sorrow that I didn’t hear the cracking at first. When the sound finally registered, I lifted my eyes and dashed the tears away so I could see. The truth stone was trembling where it lay next to Ana’s body. A long, jagged split appeared down the middle of it, and then another fissure shot out from the side.
It was hatching. How was it possible? The phoenix had said the egg was no longer viable after leaving the fire realm.
A chunk of stone crumbled and fell aside and a tongue shot out from the interior. I sat there, frozen in place. Did the phoenix have a tongue like that? I couldn’t remember. It looked more like a dragon tongue than that of the fiery bird. Leaning closer, I peered inside but couldn’t see anything except the outer sparkle of the gemstone. Then a head appeared.
It was golden with tiny green eyes the exact same shade as Ana’s. The head disappeared back inside the stone again, and I said, “It’s safe. If you want to come out, I won’t hurt you.”
The tongue flicked out again and then the beast emerged. Quickly the creature slid out of the stone and its body pooled in a circle next to it. It raised its head and swayed in the air, opening its hood. It was a cobra. A newborn. The width of its body was as small as my pinky finger and its length was only about ten inches.
“Look at you,” I said with an incredulous gasp. “You look like Fanindra.”
Perhaps I should have been afraid but I wasn’t. I’d lost everything, and if death by magical snakebite was my fate, then so be it. I held out a finger and the tiny snake wound around it. I stroked the white belly and it darted out its tongue and touched it to my fingernail. The tongue was white, which was rare for cobras. Frowning, I turned my finger to study the back of the hood. The patterns of scales were lighter than Fanindra’s but they appeared to be identical.
“Are you related to Fanindra?” I asked it out loud, trying to puzzle out how a baby cobra ended up in a phoenix egg. The silly smile melted away quickly as I remembered Anamika and wiped a tear from my eye.
The snake, of course, didn’t answer.
Holding her gently, I explained, “Fanindra was a glorious, golden cobra. She belonged to the goddess Durga,” I said when she angled her tiny head to the body at my side. “If my Ana was still alive, you would belong to her too, I suppose.”
Stretching her sinuous form, she dropped down onto Ana’s arm and slid up to her hands. The baby snake flicked her tongue out and then moved closer to Ana’s head. The snake rose up as high as her little body would allow and peered into the young girl’s face. Then she opened her mouth and struck, her small fangs sinking deep into Anamika’s throat.