The Library of Fates(61)

“I wanted to know how to get to the Library,” Thala said.

“She’s hallucinating,” Kalyani said, and placed a spoonful of herbs in Thala’s mouth.

“The Keeper, Amrita—I know who it is,” Thala whispered. “He’s here. In this cave . . .”

Thala’s eyes closed, and this time she didn’t open them again.





Twenty-Nine



TAMAS WATCHED ME, concern on his face. “She’ll be fine. She just needs to rest. Kalyani’s seen situations like this before. The herbs should help. Once she’s better—”

“Once she’s better, we have to leave here,” I said to him, and he nodded.

“Only, I don’t think you can come with us to where we’re going,” he responded. “It’s not a part of your journey.”

“I know,” I whispered. Leaving with the Sybillines, wherever they were going, would just be running away.

The evening was falling over us, a quilt of purple light illuminating the rose-colored mountains, the ancient honeycomb caves. The lagoon became a mirror for the sky, and around the edges of that mirror, the Sybillines sat on plush red cushions and golden carpets, lanterns lighting up their warm faces. Across the walls of the caves, images of the outside world flashed and disappeared like fireworks.

The Sybillines watched these images as they ate, laughing with those who laughed, crying when people in the images cried. But the caves buzzed with a kind of electric anticipation of the future. They were joyous, excited about the next leg of their journey. And yet none of them really knew where they were going. Neither did we.

I scanned the cave, wondering if Thala was right. Was the Keeper of the Library really here?

“You look as though you’re unraveling a mystery,” Tamas said to me.

I hesitated. “Thala took the chamak in order to help us, to help me,” I said, feeling ashamed. “She wanted to find a way to get us to our next destination.”

“Where did she want to go?” Tamas asked, taking a bite of his flatbread.

I watched him carefully. “To the Library of All Things.” I took a deep breath, inspecting him for any signs that he was the Keeper.

But Tamas continued to eat his flatbread without a pause. “Why there?”

“She believes that we’re meant to go there. I promised her that we would find it.” I looked at Thala, sleeping on a cot beside a small fire, two Sybillines watching over her.

“You promised her?” I could hear the incredulity in his tone.

“She’s desperate to change the past. And, in many ways, so am I.”

“Is it because you have a . . . thing with the Keeper?” He grinned at me.

I rolled my eyes. It’s definitely not him. Someone who waits centuries for his beloved to return wouldn’t make light of it.

“But entering the Library,” he added, “that’s . . . impossible.”

I turned to him sharply. “But Thala said she saw us, or me, in the Library.”

Tamas looked confused. “The Library exists in another dimension from our world. There’s no way for humans to access it.”

“But vetalas can get in . . .”

Tamas nodded. “Because in order to go to the Library, you can’t be living or dead. They leave behind their human bodies so they can get inside.”

I thought for a moment. “But even if we can’t get in, there’s a way to convince the Keeper—”

Tamas shook his head forcefully. “To change the past? Change people’s fates? He’d never do that.”

After all the time I’d spent resisting the idea of the Library, I now found I couldn’t accept what he was saying. “How do you know?”

“Because it’s the Keeper’s duty to guard the Library from humans. Humans are always tempted to break the rules. They do as they wish. Vetalas are different—they’re . . . proper, fair. Even if he loves you, he’s quite an ethical person. I doubt he’d be willing to—”

“Wait,” I interrupted him. It was my turn to be incredulous. “You act like you know him.”

Tamas sighed. “I know he’s ethical because he could have easily gone into the Library and changed your fate. That way, he wouldn’t have had to wait hundreds of years for your return. Can you even imagine what it’s like to wait for someone that long?”

I thought about how tortured I was over Arjun, and we had only been apart a few days.

And yet thinking of Arjun in that moment made me feel oddly disloyal toward this vetala who had been waiting centuries for Maya’s return. I had to remind myself that in my own mind, I wasn’t Maya. I was Amrita. I didn’t know this vetala. I didn’t owe him my loyalty and affection.

Tamas was still speaking. “Besides, whenever we’ve gotten a note from him in the past—”

“You’ve received notes from him?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the birds. “My ancestors gave him the key to the caves. The key that you have in your possession,” he said, gesturing to the dagger that was secured on my waist. “He has never used it, but he writes to us with details of his expeditions, his pilgrimages.”

“So you’ve been communicating with him all this time?”