The Library of Fates(38)

I held his question in my mind for a few moments, considering it carefully. I noted the kindness in his voice.

Softly, he added, “Company is sometimes the best thing we can give each other.” I looked toward Thala, still several paces ahead. “It can be a balm for all the fear, loss, and anguish in the world,” he said, looking at me as though he knew that I carried all of these emotions with me.

I did feel all those things, but mostly, I was afraid that this was only the beginning. We were still alone in the world, Thala and I, navigating unknown terrain, barely speaking to each other, and I felt exposed to the elements, stripped bare in the face of terrifying unknowns that could befall us at any minute.

“My name is Varun, by the way. You don’t have to tell me yours if you don’t want to.”

Maybe I was taking a risk, but I also didn’t want to believe that the world was filled with evil people like Sikander. I wanted to hope that there was kindness too.

“Amrita.”





Sixteen



VARUN WAS TOO OLD to be in school, but certainly too young to be a monk. Besides, he wasn’t dressed in the traditional orange robes that monks wore.

“Why would you make this pilgrimage every day?” I asked him. “Don’t you have a job?” As I watched him, I realized I wanted to know everything about him: where he was from, what his life was like, and yet I struggled against the poise and decorum that Mala had always instructed me to maintain, especially with strangers. It was a barrier, and for some reason, I didn’t want any barriers between myself and this stranger I had just met, something that baffled and surprised me.

He didn’t seem offended by my questions. “I do. I’m a caretaker. But I’m also a devotee of the Goddess.”

“The Goddess? Which one?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know anything about the temple, do you?” He was teasing me again.

“Some.” I held my chin high, attempting to maintain my pride. “It’s the Mountain of Miracles, where the Diviners made a pact with the vetalas.”

“That’s it?”

“There’s more?” I looked at him. “I mean, it’s just some old fable. How complicated could the story be?”

“Is this your first time there?”

I nodded.

“You must know the story of Makara the Spider.”

“He creates, sustains, and destroys the world.”

“Right, and after he created this world, he conjured up two groups to care for it.”

“The Diviners and the vetalas.”

“Exactly. The vetalas were immortal. They kept meticulous records of time. Some had powers to heal any wound, any illness. They were logical beings, methodical. They believed in order and fairness. But they were spirits, lacking bodies, and so their ability to influence the world was limited—that is, unless they were able to inhabit a human body.”

“That’s why people are so scared of them. They devour humans.”

“Devour is a little sensational,” he said as he reached for my shoulder and directed me to a part of the path where there was less foot traffic. “They find uninhabited bodies of the dead to animate.”

“Not much difference,” I said, feeling a pang of regret as he removed his hand from my shoulder.

Varun shook his head, grinning at me. “They’re not as scary as people think. The Diviners, on the other hand, were the first humans. They couldn’t see the future, and they had a tendency to forget the past, but they had courage and will. They had the means to shape their future, something that the vetalas couldn’t fathom. The Diviners were emotional beings, capable of great love and great pain. Makara created these beings hoping that they’d work together to care for the Earth, but that’s not what happened. At first, humans and vetalas worked together—vetalas even taught the Diviners how to look into the future.”

“Is that how oracles learned to see the future?” I said, looking ahead at Thala. She seemed to be limping, her body sagging to one side.

Varun nodded. “It’s an age-old practice. Vetalas also taught the Diviners how to communicate with the Earth. But ultimately their differences cleaved them apart.”

“What differences? Aside from the stealing-bodies stuff . . .”

“That was actually it. Vetalas don’t procreate; the early world contained only a finite number of them. Vetalas could communicate with humans only if they inhabited a human body, so they spent their time in cemeteries, trying to find newly deceased bodies to reanimate. And when humans learned of this practice, they thought it grotesque, a violation they couldn’t tolerate. A feud developed between the Diviners and the vetalas. Humans began to cremate the bodies of the dead so that spirits couldn’t get to them first. And soon, there was no communication between the vetalas and the humans. That’s why you barely hear anything about vetalas anymore.”

“So wait—you believe vetalas really existed once upon a time?”

He laughed, and I noted the sound of it—open and kind. “They still do. They live in hidden places. And they no longer reside within clans. Most of them wander the Earth, alone.”

“If they really live among us, wouldn’t I have met one by now?”

“Maybe you have.” He shrugged. “They exist; that’s all I know. And they still understand the wisdom of the early world.”