The Wild Ones Page 10

  “What happened?” Valentina prompts after a few beats of silence.

  “We were betrayed by someone we considered our own,” Taraana says. “He came to Jbeil with us and figured out my identity. He later approached one of Baarish’s creatures to cut a deal with Baarish. He told me he had no choice. Siding with Baarish guarantees his survival while allying with me is like trying to survive on a tightrope.” Taraana looks up. “Perhaps I shouldn’t blame him?”

  “No, you should. You should totally blame him,” Kamboja says, her eyes blazing.

  “Blame him to death,” Areum adds, her red lips snarling.

  Taraana ducks his head, stealing a moment. Then he continues. “When Baarish’s creatures attacked, Assi did her best to get me into the Between before they could drag me away. I wanted to stay and fight, but she told me I would be hindering her ability to fight. So, I ran like the coward I am.”

  Paheli flicks him on the forehead. “Trying to survive isn’t an act of cowardice.”

  “Are you worried that they might have caught Assi?” Eulalie asks.

  “She said she would much rather die than be captured,” Taraana replies. They seem to share that sentiment.

  “Ah,” Eulalie says. “I shall find out what happened to her. Give me a few days and I will have some news for you.”

  “Thank you.” Taraana looks straight at Eulalie, perhaps for the first time.

  “All right. Let’s talk about Baarish now,” Paheli says without letting another minute pass.

  The air in the parlor loses its warmth, and we gather closer together to deconstruct the monster to find the man within.

  Our days of reconnaissance led us to some inviolable facts about Baarish: He straddles the fence between the human and the middle worlds, dipping his thumbs in both pots. All testimonies that we heard from the middle worlders in Agra tell us that Baarish subscribes to an old-fashioned code of honor that precludes humans and women. His power means everything to him. He will exploit anyone he can, even if they are related to him. Even little children do not escape his quest for money and power.

  Uttar Pradesh, which includes Agra, and other states were ruled by one of Baarish’s enemies for a long while. Baarish was imprisoned during that time. However, there was a recent coup, which led to a change in rulers. The new administrator of the region is not just Baarish’s closest and oldest friend, but also his brother-in-law.

  “Who fulfilled the role of Dar while Baarish was in prison?” Eulalie asks with a frown knitting up her eyebrows.

  “Baarish’s youngest brother,” Ligaya replies. “Ask me what happened to him. Quick!”

  “Baarish killed him the day after he was released from prison,” Etsuko replies to the question that wasn’t asked. “He doesn’t share his power with anyone.”

  “Hey!” Ligaya wails.

  “Children,” Daraja says.

  Baarish has had three wives, four—well, now three—brothers, five sons, fourteen grandsons, and one granddaughter. None of his family members have a lot of magic, but all of them believe they are entitled to large amounts of it. As the only magic user in his family, the patriarch holds tightly to power and has not yet chosen his heir, though his grandsons are all hopeful.

  “A lot of the middle worlders complained about the gradual decrease of the magic in places that used to be full of it,” Kamboja says. “It seems that the rivers and lakes that Baarish is in charge of yield far less magic now than they used to.”

  Eulalie has a dark look on her face. “He is not the only one facing this problem,” she says. “I attended a meeting today regarding the very same thing. The level of magic in New Orleans is decreasing at a significant rate, and we don’t know why or how to fix it.

  “So perhaps this is the reason his pursuit of the keeper and you girls is so fierce.” Eulalie shoots Taraana a look. “The stars are pure magic, even purer than the Between diamonds. One will fuel a middle worlder for decades.” She turns to Paheli. “Let me see it again.”

  Paheli holds out her palm, but Taraana catches her hand with his and holds it. It seems he is still suspicious of Eulalie. Paheli glances at Eulalie, who shrugs and doesn’t insist.

  “First of all, let’s address the issue of safety,” Eulalie says. “Baarish won’t easily attack you here. This is not his territory, and appearing here without explicit permission from the ruler of this region will be seen as an act of war. I’m assuming this is a risk he won’t take lightly. However, Baarish isn’t the only middle worlder to be wary of. Anyone who knows about Taraana’s stars will want to acquire them… him. Fortunately, not many people are aware of the Keeper of the Between. I will draw up a spell to mask Taraana’s eyes—”

  “Magic doesn’t work on me, either,” Taraana interrupts Eulalie.

  “Oh.” Eulalie seems stumped. “In that case, I recommend sunglasses.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Ghufran says, and we thrill again. Every time she speaks is a victory for us. “We know very little about the Keeper of the Between. Do you know if there have been any before Taraana? What do they do?” We look at Eulalie for answers. She is part of the middle world, after all. She will have some answers.

  “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you,” she says, looking apologetic. “What I know about the Keeper of the Between is only enough to fill a thimble. I do know that there has always been one… and that’s about it.”

  “The thimble is almost empty, Lalie,” Paheli says.

  “Sorry,” Eulalie says with a grimace. “Here’s what I can do, though. One of the people attending the meeting today was an old friend of mine. She’s the Keeper of the Green of New Orleans. Her magic comes from nature, trees, and other plants, to be specific. She is very powerful and will be a fount of information for you. I can arrange a meeting between you and her, if you desire. There’s also someone who used to be a librarian in the middle-world version of the Library of Alexandria. She may know a lot more about the Keepers of the Between than my friend, but she’s nomadic, and locating her will take some time. Do you want to wait to meet the librarian, or would you like to talk to the Keeper of the Green first?”

  We look at Paheli and she looks at Taraana. “I would like to meet the Keeper of the Green first, if you don’t mind,” he says after a moment.

  “All right. I will ask Mama Magdaline and let you know what she says,” Eulalie replies.

  A few moments pass quietly. “Will we be safe here? Will I be endangering you all if I stay here?” Taraana asks suddenly.

  “There are few in this city who would break into a house I call my own, child,” Eulalie says. The mien she has maintained so far of a good-natured not-human woman falls away, and a creature with teeth peeks through. “I have set up wards outside that will warn us should anyone try to trespass. So yes, we are safe here.”

  Taraana looks slightly reassured. We understand. Sometimes you can lock yourself in a fortress and still feel vulnerable.

  “Well, since we have discussed all the somber things we can tonight, let’s get back to singing!” Areum says brightly.

  “You want Widad to go back to singing nursery rhymes?” Sevda demands incredulously.

  “Oh yes!” Widad perks up and clears her throat. “I was singing ‘Alouette,’ wasn’t I? I shall start from the beginning!”

  From the Book of MEMORIES

  LIGAYA

  CITY OF ORIGIN: CEBU

  It was midnight. Or a smudge past twelve.

  The darkness was held together by broken fragments

  of nowhere poetry. I-don’t-care poetry.

  I was there. My soul bared and vulnerable to the mockery

  of the empty page. Constructing a house (and home)

  from the cutout pictures of the Ikea catalog.

  I was draining out of myself gradually. Like water

  draining out of a swimming pool. I was walking

  blind. Emptying out. It’s important that you understand.

  One need not be made of glass to s
hatter.

  The Keeper of the Green and the Mysteries of Magic

  The Keeper of the Green accepts Eulalie’s invitation to come to tea. After further discussion, we decided against letting her know about Taraana and his identity ahead of time. Not because we don’t trust her—well, actually, we don’t. We don’t know her, so the question of trust isn’t even a question at this point. We also don’t trust the people around her. Avarice is a universal middle name.

  The day of the meeting is sunny with nary a cloud marring the pristine blueness of the sky. We attempt to help Eulalie in the kitchen but she shoos us out, calling us nuisances. She is busy whipping up meatballs, deviled eggs, coconut shrimp, cakes, and a host of other goodies we get our hands slapped for. The entire house smells like a feast. The rules of hospitality demand that no one leaves the house they visit with an empty stomach. Eulalie means business.

  The front parlor on the first floor, where the meeting will take place, is cleaned and polished till it shines. Colorful cushions grace the chairs, mahogany gleams, and little white doilies soften dark surfaces. Vases full of freshly cut flowers are placed around the room. Curtains are pulled apart to allow the sun to whisper its way in. When the room is done, we look to our toilette. We put on our prettiest clothes and our pinkest lipsticks. With some persuasion, Taraana puts on one of his new outfits and combs his hair back. He looks uncomfortably debonair. At ten minutes before the meeting hour, we are in the parlor watching the clock count down the minutes.

  “I feel like we’re meeting royalty,” Valentina says, fussing with the headpiece she is wearing.

  “I object to the deification of a human being simply on account of that being’s privileged birth,” Talei says.

  “The Keeper of the Green isn’t human,” Kamboja points out.

  “I’m not talking about her,” Talei replies.

  “So, you wouldn’t mind the deification of a human being if the human being did something to deserve the deification?” Etsuko jumps into the conversation.

  “Look, all I’m saying is that we’re all overdressed,” Valentina says, bringing the conversation back and earning several dirty looks in the process.

  “What I’m more worried about is how I will feel if, after all this fuss, she doesn’t show up.” Paheli’s light pink hair is in a tight French braid, emphasizing the bones of her face. This face is currently furrowed up in a frown.

  “Mama Magdaline always keeps her word and her appointments,” Eulalie says, a reprimand in her voice. She wheels in a breakfast cart almost tipping over with dishes full of food and gestures for Paheli to bring in the second cart that contains a teapot and matching cups. She glances at Taraana, who sits silently on a settee in the center of the parlor. “Do not fear, child. Mama Magdaline will do you no harm.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Taraana asks Eulalie.

  “Hmm, let me put it this way. She has more than enough magic of her own to require yours.”

  “There is no such thing as enough magic for middle worlders,” Taraana bites out, more bitter than we have ever experienced him being.

  Eulalie opens her mouth to reply, but at that moment, magic, as we have never felt it before, washes over us. We stiffen and, moving almost as one, gather beside Taraana. The doorbell rings.

  Giving us a look that begs us to behave, Eulalie goes to open the door.

  Our first inkling that Mama Magdaline is not your usual middle worlder is the fragrance that precedes her. A scent of roses fills the parlor long before Eulalie opens the door. Then we get our first look at the Keeper of the Green.

  Middle worlders are generally long-lived. Not the century that humans call a long life, but a millennium, though we haven’t met any more than five centuries old. Or perhaps we have and didn’t realize it. We comprehend time in different ways from humans and middle worlders, after all.

  Mama Magdaline is… for a lack of a more delicate way of putting it, really old. Her age is a skip in our hearts, a burning in our eyes. Or perhaps that is the effect of the power that rolls off her. She is not a tall woman, but with the magic she contains, she may as well be a mountain. Her face is delicate; she wears her age in fine lines around her full lips and eyes. Oh, her eyes… like Baarish’s eyes, Mama Magdaline’s eyes give away the position she occupies—her office, so to speak. Her eyes are deep pools of green that occasionally reflect trees—trees that are nowhere in sight in the real world. The effect is unsettling.

  We watch her approach, as do the flowers in the vases. They bloom brighter in her presence just as we sit straighter and quieter. She comes alone, needing no entourage to buoy her presence. When she has settled in the settee across from the one we are sitting on, she looks at us. Well, more like she glances at us before her attention falls on Taraana with all the grace of a hammer falling on a glass window. Her face freezes and surprise, like a typhoon, sweeps through her features. She observes Taraana carefully, cataloging the bruises on his face, the look in his eyes, the grip of his hands on Paheli’s.

  “Child, is this the Keeper of the Between?” Mama Magdaline asks Eulalie, who is standing beside the breakfast cart.

  “Yes, Mama,” Eulalie replies. Her voice is soft and her tone reverent.

  “Explain to me what the Keeper of the Between—no, what these children—are doing in your parlor?” the Keeper of the Green demands without moving her eyes from Taraana. It’s almost as if she’s afraid he will disappear if she stops looking at him.

  We watch with great interest as Eulalie squirms. She has always treated us as the children Mama Magdaline calls us, but this is the first time we have seen her being treated as a juvenile. All of us, except for Paheli, hide our smirks. She has no such compunction.

  “I’ve told you about the child I picked up in the Between, Mama,” Eulalie says, erasing Paheli’s smirk easily. “That’s Paheli. The rest of them are her sisters.”

  Mama Magdaline’s eyes leave Taraana for a short second to look at Paheli, who bristles at the attention.

  “You may call me ‘Grandmother,’ child,” the Keeper of the Green tells us, and Paheli offers her a weak smile in response. “Now, I very much doubt you’ve invited me over simply for tea. Not that I mind tea.” Eulalie takes the keeper’s words as a signal to serve food and puts us to work.

  “Would you tell us what you know about the Keeper of the Between?” Paheli asks her, an unfamiliar shade of respect coloring her words.

  Mama Magdaline looks at Taraana, and once again, her eyes show her surprise. “Before I tell you what I know about the Keeper of the Between, tell me what you know about magic.”

  Magic, huh. We have never cared to deconstruct the magic around us. It is important to us, but we don’t question it. We know what is commonly known about magic, but we know nothing about where it comes from nor how it is created.

  Mama Magdaline doesn’t seem perturbed by our silence. In fact, she seems to take our lack of knowledge for granted.

  “Despite the arrogance and superiority evinced by middle worlders, they, we, cannot survive without human beings. Isn’t that funny?” No, it really is not, but okay. We continue listening. “The magic middle worlders need to live is generated by human lives. Specifically, the life and death of human beings generate magic that is eventually used by the middle worlders for energy, sustenance, and as a form of currency. With me so far?”

  We nod. Mama Magdaline pauses to eat a scone and sip some tea.

  “However, the magic generated by the life and death of humans is like crude oil. For it to gain a form usable by middle worlders, it needs to be refined. That is where the Between comes in. The Between is much more than a magical corridor; it is the source of magic in the natural world. Like an oil refinery takes crude oil and separates it into different forms of usable oil, so does the Between take the original magic and refine it into magic found in the natural world. Do you follow me?”

  Our wide eyes and arrested faces answer her.

  “The refined magic is further
refined by the rivers and lakes or green and growing things, or metals and gems, to create different varieties of magic, but the point is, all of these magics share a point of origin, and they all require the Between to process the original.” Mama Magdaline takes a breath.

  “And the keeper?” Areum prompts.

  “I’m getting to the keeper, child. Patience.” The rebuke falls short and Areum grins unrepentantly.

  “The last Keeper of the Between that I remember walked the Between when I was a child. It has been a long time since then.” Mama Magdaline’s expression is softened by nostalgia, not that she shares what she is remembering. “The blood of the Keeper of the Green has the essence of green and growing things. The blood of the Keeper of the Rivers and Lakes is filled with the essence of the rivers and lakes, just like the Keeper of Precious Gems has the essence of gold in their blood. The Keeper of the Between, however, always has the blood of a human being because their job is to facilitate the conversion of the crude magic into refined magic. The Keepers of the Between always begin as humans.”

  “If the Keepers of the Between are so important to the flow of magic, why is Taraana being hunted like this?” Valentina demands.

  “Because most people are not aware the Between even has keepers. Powerful middle worlders have, for centuries now, exploited the Keeper of the Between for their own gains, without caring for the consequences to the middle world. But I fear we will all realize the danger that comes with neglecting the needs of the Between soon.” Mama Magdaline sighs and a sharp scent of green rises in the room. “Once I would have brought along forests with me. Now, I am forced to scavenge for magic in the roots of old trees.”