The Serpent's Secret (Kiranmala and the Kingdom Beyond #1)(49)

“Gob gaam! Khom khoo!

We want some human stew!”

“There!” I pointed.

We’d entered a clearing. An old deserted cabin stood in its center. The door of the cabin was kind of rickety, but the walls seemed strong enough.

We dashed into the dark building just in time. With a thrashing of bush and tree, the demons came into the clearing themselves.

“Thakata-thakata-dang-dang-dort!

We love hunting meaty sport!”

I helped Neel prop the cabin’s broken table, chairs, and a cabinet against the front door. Unfortunately, there was still a small opening in the frame where the hinge had come off.

“We’re in luck.” He peeked through the opening into the moonlit clearing. “They’re khokkosh.”

“What’s that?” As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I tried to shake the remaining strands of demon goop off of poor Tuntuni, who still looked shell-shocked.

“You remember how bright the rakkhosh we met in New Jersey was?”

“He was an idiot. He tried to eat my toaster.”

“Yeah, well, these khokkosh make that guy look like Albert Einstein.” Neel’s face was grim. “One of the few 2-D geniuses who recognized the multiplicity of dimensions.”

Okay, what? But there wasn’t time now to ask Neel about that. I watched as he ran around the small cabin, grabbing the oil lamps that were littered here and there.

“If they’re so dumb, then why do you still look so worried?”

“They may be stupid,” he muttered as he lit each lamp, “but they’re strong. And obviously, hungry.”

I took a peek through the door opening myself. Yipes. The clearing was thick with the ferocious khokkosh. They were smaller than rakkhosh, and more animal-like. They had yellow skin, crooked teeth, and pointy ears that made them look like a cross between giant rabbits and enormous bats. Their claws seemed plenty sharp, and their long, skinny arms were twisted with stringy muscles.

“Don’t say anything,” Neel whispered. “Just do what I do.”

I nodded.



Tuni let out a low, soap-opera-style wail. “Oh, the humanity! The humanity, I say! We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die,” the yellow bird cried, falling to the floor with a wing perched dramatically over his head.

Neel and I stood still, our every muscle tensed. My straining ears could even make out the snuffling and shuffling as someone, or something, walked toward the house.

It was all I could do not to jump when a horrible, nasal voice called from just outside the door. “Hub, hum, hai, hower! Who’s awake at this dark hour?”

“We are hungry rakkhosh!” Neel growled.

At that the khokkosh retreated from the door. We could hear them whispering to one another from a few feet away.

“Huum-humm hoam! Let’s plunder and roam!” said one group.

“Gumm-guum gaam! Let’s go home!” said another.

But they didn’t leave. The khokkosh gathered away from the door to engage in some more whispering and negotiating. One, who I assumed was their spokes-demon, a stupid-looking guy with a scar over his eye and a half-chewed-off ear, walked up to the cabin again.

“Goom-goom, doom-dite! If you’re really rakkhosh, turn off the light!”

“No we won’t!” Neel held the lamps high even closer to the door and gestured to me to do the same.

At my raised eyebrows, he hissed, “Everyone knows khokkosh can’t see in the light!”

“I’m sooo sorry!” I whisper-yelled. “I must have missed that lecture in demonology class!”

There was some more murmuring from outside as the demons consulted one another to figure out their next move.

“Shoom-shaam, hoom-hails! If you’re really rakkhosh, show us your nails!”

Neel put down the lamps and picked up a bunch of arrows from my quiver. He shoved the points through the opening. Tuntuni handed me a few arrows with his beak, and when I stuck them through the hole, I was gratified to hear the spokes-demon yelp.

“Oh, my mother’s sainted fart! This demon’s nails really smart!”

There was more mumbling from outside, and even the sound of a fistfight. Someone seemed to be biting someone else. The spokes-demon approached the cabin again, this time with an even stupider-looking fellow with a wart the size of a watermelon growing out of his forehead.

“Dum-doom, ding-dung! If you’re really rakkhosh, show us your tongue!”

With only a second of hesitation, Neel thrust the blade of his sword through the opening, making both the spokes-demon and his assistant screech.

“Oh, my uncle’s rotten guts! That rakkhosh’s tongue really cuts!”

This time, a whole troop came up to the doorway. “Gob-goob, flim-flit! If you’re really rakkhosh, let’s see your spit!” They chanted in one voice.

“What do we do now?” I moaned.

Neel looked desperately around, mumbling, “Spit, spit.”

The khokkosh outside the door began shrieking and howling. “Let’s see your spit! Let’s see your spit!”

A few of the bolder ones began banging and scratching on the door. A few more seconds and they just might realize we were lying, and decide to bash the door down.

“Anytime now, Neel!” I’m not ashamed to say I was kinda freaking out.