The Wild Ones Read online

  “Whoa,” Taraana says, and turns around to face us. He might be the master of understatement.

  We observe him carefully. His appearance has changed, but we cannot say how. His face remains the same. His body is the same. Everything is the same, but somehow, he is completely different. The stars in his eyes burn brighter. His smile is surer. The way he moves is so much more graceful. It is as though his broken pieces have come together to create Taraana 2.0.

  We look at Paheli. She is staring at him; the look on her face is inexplicable.

  “I can feel the Between,” Taraana says to us, his eyes excited. “I can feel all the doors, all the twists and turns. There are seven other doors burning at this moment. Five are in danger of burning. Three doors are being born.” He shakes his head and laughs out loud. The sound is catching, and all of us, except for Paheli, are infected by Taraana’s happiness.

  “Let’s go back home,” she says, more quietly than we’ve ever heard her. “Eulalie is waiting for us.”

  And she is. She’s standing in the front parlor, a serious look on her face, and a cream-colored envelope in her hands.

  “What is it, Lalie?” Paheli asks.

  “Was Taraana successful in bonding to the Between?” Eulalie asks first.

  Taraana replies in the affirmative, and only then does Eulalie relax slightly.

  “What is the matter?” Paheli asks again.

  “ ‘The Magic Council of the Middle World has summoned Taraana and the Wild Ones to explain themselves regarding their actions against the previous Dar of Uttar Pradesh,’ ” Eulalie reads off the letter she’s holding.

  Well then.

  Paheli: The Beginning of Forever

  I wish I could say I am surprised by the summons, but I am not. Not even remotely. What I am surprised by is how fast they moved and the fact that they knew to send the letter to Eulalie. I guess we aren’t as circumspect in our movements as I thought.

  “When?” Valentina asks.

  “A week. In Tokyo,” Eulalie replies, preempting my question.

  “Okay. I will care about it again in three days,” I announce to everyone listening, and excuse myself. The girls are gathered around Taraana, and when he is distracted, I slip away. Surely, no one will begrudge me a few minutes to myself.

  I am tired.

  I head to the conservatory at the heart of the house. The conservatory is Lalie’s most spectacular feat of magic. It is full of lush green plants, several of which are in bloom. She made this place for me after I told her I wanted to go to a jungle. The floors are tiled, and a loud yellow chaise takes the place of honor in the middle. When I sit down on it, I can pretend I am surrounded by the jungle on all four sides. There is even birdsong in the air. The air is redolent with the smell of roses, and a rare peace fills me.

  I close my eyes and spend a few minutes trying not to think. Not about Baarish turning to ash in front of our eyes. Not about the role I played in his end. Not about the wounds inflicted on Taraana. And not about him changing. It is a futile endeavor, and I don’t manage even a minute of it. Soon I am thinking about not thinking, which defeats the entire purpose.

  I feel someone sit down beside me, then smell honeysuckle. Valentina. I open my eyes and she throws a mango at me. I catch it and look at the perfectly ripened fruit in my hands. It’s not cake, but I guess it will do.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Eulalie picked up an entire box of mangoes for you,” Valentina replies, holding up her own mango.

  Eulalie. She insists on loving me. Insists on seeing more in me than I can see in myself. Maybe there is more?

  We eat in silence, Valentina and I. We eat messily. Ferally. Fortunately, there is a tap nearby we can clean up at.

  “We’re almost at the end, huh?” Valentina says later.

  “Of this chapter?” I quip.

  “Of this season,” she replies. We grin at each other.

  “I’m tired, Tina.” I lean against her. We have been together ever since I found her on that bridge more than three centuries ago. “Have you ever been tempted to leave?”

  She is quiet for a long moment. “Once, I almost did the same thing Sevda did. I was so sure I wanted to go. So sure I was ready. I was going to leave the star and a note and disappear. But the next day we found Ghufran, and with her, I found a purpose. The same purpose you have.”

  “What if Tabassum Naaz asks you to?” I pull away.

  “She knows better than to ask me that!” She is offended. I snicker. “What?”

  “It’s the first time you didn’t deny—” She glares at me, and I zip my lips. For one minute. Then I return to leaning against her and whisper in her ear. “You really like her, huh?”

  “It would be a lie if I said I didn’t,” Valentina says carefully. “But…”

  “But?” I prompt.

  “I’m scared, and I’m unsure whether I want to deal with the messy reality of relationships,” she says finally.

  “Welcome to my world,” I tell her sincerely. She rewards me with a pinch. No gratitude in this world, I tell you.

  Valentina gets to her feet and I fall to the side. “Taraana’s waiting outside. I will go and tell him it’s okay to come in.”

  She leaves, and I consider jumping in the bushes to hide. Then decide against it because my dignity is already in danger. So, I sit back and start counting to a hundred. I have only reached thirty when I hear Taraana’s footsteps.

  He even walks differently now. I pretend fascination with the blooms of a bird-of-paradise plant to avoid having to look at him. He sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel his heat but far enough that no part of his body is touching mine.

  “I haven’t changed that much,” he says. Have I mentioned how much I hate the fact that he knows how I feel? “Look at me.”

  His words are an entreaty, and one I reluctantly yield to. I know I have made a mistake as soon as I look at him. He looks like someone I used to know. This Taraana, so flush with magic and confidence, is strange to me.

  “I am still him.”

  “Stop reading my mind,” I snap, and immediately feel bad.

  “It’s the bond. It has made our connection so much stronger,” he replies. “I’m sorry. I’m doing my best not to.”

  “Try harder.” Why am I being this horrible? “Look, I’m sorry. Just leave me alone for a while, and I will be okay.”

  “No, you won’t. You haven’t been okay since Lucknow,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault. I chose to go with your plan, and I am glad I did.”

  “You almost died because of me.” I cross my arms. “I decided to play with your life and you almost died. If Tabassum Naaz hadn’t done what she did, you may still have been with Baarish, being tortured.” I will hate myself for that.

  He sighs.

  “Is this where you tell me I am being silly and you were fully on board with my plan so I need to stop imposing my guilty conscience on you?” I say in a rush. “Because, get this, I’ve already told myself that. And it’s not working.”

  “So, what do you want to do?” he asks.

  “What if I take off the star? What if I disappear?” The words are out before I can stop them, and once they are, I can’t take them back. No—I won’t take them back. Taraana freezes. I risk a look. The heartbreak on his face breaks my heart. Why am I doing this?

  “I’m sorry. I’m just angry. Out of sorts. I won’t do that.” I inch closer to him until I can wrap my arms around this not-Taraana. At least he still smells the same.

  “Wait,” he says, and separates from me. “If you take—” His voice breaks. He tries again. “If you want to leave, I will let you. Because it is your decision, and no matter how much I want you to stay with me, your life is your own. I want you to be happy, and if leaving gives you happiness—are you going to leave me, Paheli?” He is truly panicked now. I am such an ass.

  “No, I love you. I won’t leave you unless you do something awful. Like eat my mangoes.”
I reach for him again. He holds me tight, as if reassuring himself of my presence. “I’m sorry. I’m just upset. I feel guilty. And sad. I will be all right. I just need time.”

  “But you love me?”

  “Yeah. Entirely too much,” I grumble.

  “I love you too. Way more than you love me.”

  “Ugh. Stop. This is about as much mush as I can handle.”

  “Okay.”

  From the Book of MEMORIES

  ETSUKO

  CITY OF ORIGIN: KYOTO

  I wish I could speak a language,

  one in which you didn’t exist.

  Then I wouldn’t feel like a metallic kitchen

  on a winter morning:

  a blue tabletop, an abandoned jar of cold milk,

  the dew on the windows, and

  white oblong tiles with a star in the middle.

  Clean. And barren.

  I wouldn’t feel like that.

  And when I hear footsteps

  I wouldn’t think it’s you

  And when someone touches me on the back

  I wouldn’t turn around, expecting it to be you

  And perhaps when I wake up suddenly

  it wouldn’t be with your name on my lips.

  If you didn’t exist,

  I wouldn’t be like that thick glass; do you remember it,

  the one on the window above the front door?

  Still intact but with cracks embroidering it.

  I wouldn’t be like that.

  I wish I lived a life

  drawn in charcoal

  Then how easily I could have reached out

  and erased you from it.

  Moving One Rock at a Time Will Eventually Move a Mountain, aka Goodbye

  The unplanned Magic Council meeting is scheduled for noon in a boardroom in the Peninsula Hotel in Tokyo. We are, of course, fashionably late.

  We sail through the hotel doors at twelve thirty, dressed in the brightest colors and the loudest lipsticks. Taraana chose to wear a black suit jacket over a red T-shirt and black dress pants. We put fresh flowers in our hair and some in his, too. He has an unawakened pendant around his neck, even though he no longer needs one.

  We choose to be visible to humans and turn heads as we make our way unstopped through the hotel foyer. Our first obstacle presents itself to us in the form of the security consisting of four pairs of middle-worlder men and women. They stand outside the boardroom, their stances aggressive and intimidating. Even their pinkie fingers look threatening. All Taraana does is smile at them and they falter, moving aside without protest.

  We walk past them with Paheli leading the way and enter the boardroom unannounced. Immediately, some magic users rise to their feet, protesting our lack of etiquette. We do not pay this squawking any mind and instead stand together at the front of the room, allowing the strongest magic users in the middle world to look at us. Mama Magdaline and Tabassum Naaz are also present in the room. From them, we get reassuring smiles.

  The speaker of the Magic Council is an old middle worlder who is the Keeper of the Gold in America. Mama Magdaline told us that he is also purported to be the strongest magic user in middle-world history.

  “Are you the group self-named the Wild Ones?” He has a dapper style and could easily be someone’s bloodthirsty grandfather. There seems to be a market for dangerous grandfathers, especially in the middle world.

  “You could say that,” Paheli says.

  “And you”—the man turns to Taraana—“are the current Keeper of the Between.”

  “Indeed, I am,” Taraana replies.

  “We have asked you here because reports have come to us that you and the”—his pause is full of contempt—“Wild Ones were involved in the demise of the previous Dar of Uttar Pradesh. Were you?”

  “Is there any particular reason I need to answer to you?” Taraana looks at the middle worlder lazily.

  “If you know what’s good for you…,” another middle worlder says. Apart from Mama Magdaline and Tabassum Naaz, there are seven other middle worlders sitting at the table in the boardroom. They all resemble Baarish to a certain extent. Imagine a portion of the population glutted on power, privilege, and prestige, and you will know what they look like. If that’s difficult, think of politicians, and you will get the idea.

  “Why? Isn’t Baarish’s death good news for you?” Taraana looks around the room. “Now that he’s gone, one of you can come after me. Haven’t you been hunting Keepers of the Between for centuries now?”

  “What are you saying?” A red-haired magic user bangs his hands on the table in front of him with great force. “Do you have evidence to substantiate your claims?”

  “I would bring in the keepers before me to testify, but they’re all dead,” Taraana replies. “Funny, you should know that, considering you were the ones who murdered them.”

  “Are you going to justify your actions as self-defense?” the Keeper of the Gold asks, bringing the conversation back to a topic they think they can control.

  “As I was saying, there’s no reason for me to explain my actions to you. You’re not worthy of it.” Taraana manages to say that without wincing. We practiced with him till late last night.

  A moment of shock trembles briefly in the room before anger threatens the existence of any equilibrium these middle worlders still have remaining.

  “Why would we not be worthy?” the speaker manages to ask.

  “As you said yourself just a few minutes ago, I am the Keeper of the Between. It is not up to you to question my actions. Didn’t you know that?” A bland smile flits across Taraana’s face.

  “You think your position as the Keeper of the Between somehow places you outside the jurisdiction of the Magic Council?” a council member says, looking Taraana up and down, finding him lacking.

  “Of course. Did you travel to Tokyo via the Between today? You couldn’t, could you? Did you find that no matter how hard you tried, you cannot call a door to the Between?” Taraana leans against a wall and addresses the room. “Perhaps it caused you some inconvenience. Perhaps the lack of the Between made you realize the difficulties of traveling through a world where magic is not equally distributed.”

  “Are you suggesting you that you had something to do with the Between’s closure?” A young middle worlder scoffs. We don’t know his name and have no desire to learn it.

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” Taraana replies, and straightens. “I’m telling you that I have closed the Between.”

  “Why?” the speaker asks. Unlike his colleagues, his words are measured. Patient. Rather reptilian.

  “I’ve heard that Wa’ad, who used to be a librarian in the exalted Library of Alexandria, has, many times, asked you for an audience. I learned that you, almost all of you, have been unwilling to listen to her,” Taraana says instead. “You should have, you know. It would have saved us a lot of trouble.”

  “Are you going to continue speaking nonsense?” the magic user with the red hair says. Taraana ignores him. We silently applaud.

  “Powerful middle worlders like you all should know better than to mess with magic.” Taraana clicks his tongue. We went back to Cairo, found Wa’ad, and had a deeper conversation with her after Taraana bonded with the Between. We learned a lot. “Since I am the Keeper of the Between, the Keeper of the Magic, let me tell you exactly what I do. Make sure you listen well because I don’t like repeating myself.”

  All the middle worlders apart from Mama Magdaline and Tabassum Naaz bristle at this point. Our Taraana—we’re so proud of his thorns.

  “Let me use an extremely prosaic analogy. It’s simple enough that even you will understand.” Taraana puts his hands in his pocket, looking confident in a way we haven’t had a chance to see him before.

  “You!” The young middle worlder trembles with rage, but the speaker is more patient.

  “Go ahead.”

  “When drains are not cleaned for a long time, they become blocked. Sometimes, they weaken
. Eventually, they rupture. A plumber provides essential service. Similarly, the channels through which magic flows and becomes refined in the Between need a keeper to keep them unclogged. They might survive for a time without a keeper, just like pipes survive for a time without a plumber, but eventually these channels will break down. The Keeper of the Between provides essential service as well.” Taraana looks around the room. “That wasn’t too difficult to understand, was it?”

  “You want us to believe that without you, the Between will collapse?” A middle worlder wearing too many gold chains laughs.

  “Yes. Though I understand that your intellect is severely limited and will perhaps prevent you from believing me.” Something dark and very alien slips into Taraana’s face. He looks murderous. “I have lived in fear for a very long time. It has twisted me in ways that I don’t like. If you persist in challenging me, you will not like the consequences.” He looks at each middle worlder in turn. “Consider the closure of the Between my first act of revenge.”

  The group shifts, clearly uncomfortable with his words. They whisper among themselves.

  Again, Taraana smiles. Maybe you won’t believe us, but this new Taraana smile is much sharper. Frightening, even. His smiles say he has seen everything you hold hidden in your heart. All your secrets have been bared for his languid perusal.

  “We can discuss the importance of the Keeper of the Between later. First, we have to address your crime. Murder is against the law!” a woman with heavy jowls says.

  “Is it?” Taraana purses his lips. “Then you might want to investigate the murders of the previous Keepers of the Between. Unless you are suggesting that this law you speak of applies to some more than others?” No one speaks. “You may also want to investigate Baarish’s attempts to harvest magic off the children he trafficked. Isn’t that against the law too, or was it legal for him to do that?”

  An older middle worlder loudly clears his throat.

  Taraana doesn’t care, and we are proud of him. He addresses the room. “I will close the Between indefinitely. Or perhaps increase the magic toll. Maybe I will allow only a select few people to use it.”