The Serpent's Secret (Kiranmala and the Kingdom Beyond #1)(50)

The noise outside was getting louder and louder, and the wood of the door was starting to splinter from the force of the demons’ blows. What were we going to do? Neel was still dashing around the hut, looking for something that could substitute for rakkhosh spit. I looked desperately around too, and then my eyes alighted on the oil lamps.

“Neel!” I pointed. As he figured out what I meant, he started to grin.

I mouthed the words, “On three,” and he nodded. On my count, we picked up the lamps and spattered all the hot oil through the opening. The khokkosh howled, dousing the spots where the oil had burned them with their tails.

“Oh, my grandpa’s nose rings! That rakkhosh spit really stings!”

This seemed to be the last straw for the khokkosh, who didn’t even consult one another before running out of the clearing.

“Gob-gum! Dum-dack! There’s rakkhosh here, let’s go back!”

As the monsters ran pell-mell out of the clearing, we all sank to the floor of the hut. We were safe, for the moment at least.

It took a couple minutes for everyone’s breathing to go back to normal. Neel was the first to recover. He glanced around the shack. “This is as good a place as any to hide out for the night. In the morning, we’ll have to find my grandmother, to see if she can get us to the border safely.”

“Your grandmother?” I asked. “Wait a minute, I thought all demons came from some faucet of evil or something.”

“Well, not all, obviously.” Neel pointed at his own chest. “But yeah, most full rakkhosh are born from wells of dark energy.”

“So how is she your grandmother?”

“Come on, your mom doesn’t have to be the one who gave birth to you, but the one who raised you. I’d think you of all people would understand that. My Ai-Ma is the one who raised my mother.”

It was hard to imagine the Rakkhoshi Queen once being a baby demon in someone’s warty arms.

“Some nanas knit or cook; his eats flesh!” Tuntuni quipped.

“Don’t start,” Neel snapped, “unless you want me to give you to her for lunch.” He turned to me. “Listen, you get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”





It was the gray morning when I at last opened my eyes. I realized that Neel hadn’t woken me up to take over the watch.

“You looked tired,” he explained, yawning himself.

Neel hadn’t slept all night but was still pretty energetic as he gathered our things, including the golden and silver spheres, cradled like twin babies in his makeshift sling. This morning they were buzzing and humming, letting off a red glow and the warm smell of cotton and honey.

“They’re happy to be together,” I said.

“Make new orbs, but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold,” Tuni sang.

“Tuni,” I warned, “maybe it’s a little too soon.”

“You are so spherical, so round and spherical, you make me hap-py when rakkhosh stay,” the bird continued, ignoring me.

“Hmm … wonder if my grandma would fancy some Tuni-bird stew,” Neel snapped. Immedately, the bird stopped singing.

“Come on, let’s go.”

It was a long walk over a rubbish-filled stretch of land—broken yo-yos, half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches, a few scary-looking skulls, and more than a few smelly old socks, none of them with a proper partner. As we walked, we saw no one.

“They’re mostly nocturnal,” Neel said.

“Like the snakes,” I offered. Neel gave me a half smile. He seemed to get what I was saying. That my biological relatives were just as terrible as his.

We were heading for a giant gorge between two steep mountains on either side. When we got closer, gooseflesh broke out on my arms. I wasn’t sure if it was coming from the gorge itself, but the air was filled with an almost-deafening rumbling sound. It sounded disturbingly like some very large creature snoring.

“We’re almost there.” Neel stopped walking to look critically at me. “You’re wearing my jacket, so that’s good.”

Neel picked up Tuntuni and, to my surprise, sat him right on my head.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” I asked as the bird squawked his surprise too.

“As much as I don’t mind if my Ai-Ma makes chicken stew out of the bird, I think I’d better try to get him home in one piece. And he’ll be safer out of sight.” Neel pulled out a long cloth from his pocket and wound it around both Tuntuni and my hair, making a big, only slightly lumpy turban.

There were muffled sounds of Tuni squawking nervously. “How do chickens get strong?” Without waiting for an answer, the bird yelled out from inside the turban, “Eggs-ersize!”

“Chill, Tuni. We’ll be all right.” I patted my head. “Just try not to dig your claws in, okay?”

“How do crows stick together in a flock?” came the muffled question. And again, without waiting for an answer, the bird squawked, “Velcrow!”

“How did the dead chicken cross the road?” Neel snapped. “It didn’t, because it was dead!”

That shut the bird up rather quickly.

Neel made a few more adjustments to my outfit, then stepped back, obviously satisfied with the results. “You’ll pass.”