I fell in love with Vikram only to discover that love was a far better control than fear. His love and control would break me until I could not recognize myself.
The hole in the wall widened. Nearly wide enough to step through. My hands shook.
While I’d been eating fear, it had tasted me too. I felt like a bone licked clean. My memory lost focus.… Why was I raising my hand to this wall of flesh? What was so important on the other side? I didn’t want to fight anymore. I wanted to curl around the cold, close my eyes. Ice knitted over my body. The blood pooled around me. Inescapable. Wave after wave of tiny fears assaulted me: spiders in my throat, holes opening up in the ground, doors that locked me inside where no one would hear me scream.
A final bite.
I bit down. Hard.
I would die here. And all of this—the magic and adventure, the terror and the hope—would be for nothing. I would be forgotten. My name would turn to ash in people’s mouths. My efforts would not scratch a line into history. I would die here, not even remembering what I was chasing after anymore.
The wall opened.
I used to think fear either numbed or nudged. Now I knew fear did neither. Fear was a key that fit every person’s hollow spaces—those things that kept us cold at night and that place where we retreated when no one was looking—and all it could do was unlock what was already there. Fear unlocked flames within me. I stepped through the wall and fear fell from my skin. One by one, the diners’ heads were all facing me. Had they been facing my way before? Or somewhere else? I couldn’t remember.
At the other side of the table, Vikram blinked. But still he said nothing. No warning sparked his eyes. No expression passed over his face. Behind him, a ruby glistened in the dim light. The final half of the key. If I went around the table, one of the six diners might reach out. Or all six. Jumping straight across was the least distance and maybe Vikram would snap out of whatever frozen enchantment had gripped him and be able to fight.
I had swung my legs onto the table, preparing to jump, when Vikram’s head jolted back. His eyes widened in horror:
“No!”
The table shuddered. The diners woke. Slowly, the diners lifted their pale hands. The silk dropped from their faces. Their expressions turned empty and devouring. A low, guttural moan escaped their throats. I froze. They were all that was left when fear devoured a person, the stringy indigestible remains of bitterness and cravings.
At once, the table lengthened, stretching out like an arena. The diners clambered forward, pushing themselves onto the table on their ragged elbows. I ran, dodging the swipe of an emaciated hand. Vikram stood up in his chair, his lips pale and his eyes ringed white with terror. The ruby behind him dimmed and flared.
“Behind you!” I screamed. “Get the ruby!”
He ignored it. One of the diners lurched onto the table-turned-arena. It stood, tall and dark, dripping hunger. It loped toward me, its movements disjointed and horrific. It didn’t run. It didn’t have to. If it caught up to us, there would be no escape. The other eleven joined it.
Vikram ran to help me, and I tossed him one of the daggers. The diners encircled us. A mass of loping, fragmented bodies. They sniffed the air with noseless faces, the slashes of their mouths flung wide and gaping. They lunged. We parried, working seamlessly to stab, swerve out of the way, duck beneath their arms. The diners closed on us, some of them swatting at the air as if they could claw us out of existence. Hunger poured out of them. If I felt nauseous before, it was nothing compared to this. Their dried-out tongues reached out to taste what had long been denied: the world. Its nuances, colors like flavors dancing across the tongue. The taste of a kiss on someone’s lips. Spice and air. Our breaths came in rushed, fast gasps. The ruby danced far out of reach. The diners advanced. Slower this time. As if they were preparing to savor the meal.
“Jump?” croaked Vikram.
“Together,” I said.
He held out his hand, and I grabbed it tightly. Vikram scrabbled at the wall. The ruby came loose. Beneath us, the floor disappeared. His fingers slipped from mine. I prepared for a long fall, a terrible crash. But the endlessness sucked in its breath and made fools of us. We slammed into the floor. Vikram teetered backward and I caught him around the arm.
The diners had disappeared.
The silence had too.
Vikram slipped his hand into mine. His face looked pinched and I wondered what horrors and trials had kept him riveted to his seat, unable to move. We held on to each other. Our breath rasping. Hands shaking. The first trial had left me dizzy with victory. But this trial had wrung out my spirit. I looked up to find Kubera standing before us, clapping.
“Well done!” he said. “Excellent performance, contestants.”
Not moving his arm from around my waist, Vikram threw the ruby at Kubera’s feet.
Kubera smiled. “You have brought me an excellent treasure.”
Our two trials required us to break free of fear and conquer desire. When Kubera told us that we were to find the key to immortality, I imagined something grand and coveted. Something that would make kings fall to their knees and even the gods would hide jealously. What we ended up with was everything and nothing like what I expected. Kubera took the ruby gently, reverently. He clasped both palms over the stone and when he opened his hands, a scarlet bird flew into the darkness. A story.
This was the key to immortality.
The thing that made kings quiver and deities distrustful:
Nothing but a tale.
34
